


Father To Son

by HgMercury39



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Animal Death, Character Death In Dream, Child AU, Gen, Loss of Parent(s), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HgMercury39/pseuds/HgMercury39
Summary: The members of Queen are teenage brothers. When tragedy turns their family life upside-down, the four must rely on each other to keep themselves alive as life suddenly becomes much harder.
Relationships: John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor
Kudos: 17





	1. When You're Young And Your Troubles Are All Very Small

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, it's Mercury! If you like this, please leave a comment or at least some constructive feedback, writing is a lot more fun when people engage with it.
> 
> Heads-up:  
> This fic starts off cute and happy but gets dark pretty quickly and suddenly.
> 
> Enjoying the story? Come talk about it, my other works, and Queen in general at https://discord.gg/Vc7Bt7X!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty short and deceptively light-hearted - be warned that this fic gets dark unexpectedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter’s kind of short, I know, but I've made them longer as I get more plot and confidence.

"Here comes the sun, and I say, it's all right!"

It's six a.m., and I jump out of bed to turn the alarm off and grab the clothes I laid out the night before. In the bunk above, my older brother tosses uneasily. He has the peculiar gift of sleeping through alarms when he wants to. I call out to him as I head off to shower.

"Fred! Come on!"

A couple of grunts and blinks later, and Freddie is climbing down from his bunk to stand next to me. He's ten months older than me, having turned eighteen three months ago, but I'm still taller, which means he gets the top bunk. Not that I'm unhappy with the arrangement, although I do like being close to the sky. It's not as if our bedroom roof was transparent... Actually, that's a good idea. I should ask Mum and Dad someday.

There are four of us in the Queen family, not counting our parents. We don't look very much like brothers, but that's genetics for you.

Freddie's the oldest, but he doesn't always act it. He loves art, and our bedroom walls are covered with his breathtaking sketches. My favourite is a piece he drew as a sort of family crest, with creatures representing our zodiac signs - fairies for Virgo, which is him, a crab for Cancer, me, and lions for Leo; that's John and Roger, the youngest two, who I'll introduce in a second - grouped around the letter Q, along with various other fantasy and heraldic imagery. It really is beautiful. He's also got a very good singing voice, although that's one of the few things all of us share; even John, who doesn't like to admit it. He has buck teeth, which are really a lot less noticeable than he thinks, but he's really embarrassed about them. Hides them when he smiles, that sort of thing. It's honestly kind of sad. He has long, sleek black hair, and the sort of warm brown eyes that don't immediately grab you like blue or green might but have plenty of charm in their own way. Sorry, I'm probably embarrassing him. On to me, I suppose.

My name is Brian, and I'm seventeen. Well, technically it's Brian Harold, but you can probably figure out for yourself that nobody actually calls me that. My two great loves are astrophysics and guitar playing, both of which I've spent a good amount of time working towards. When I was about five, I stuck glow-in-the-dark stars all over our bedroom ceiling. Freddie wasn't too happy about that at first, but we're both used to it now. What I'm really proud of, however, is my guitar. I built it myself last year, with old scrap materials like a fireplace and some help from Dad. It really is beautiful, red and black and silver and shining. I called it the Red Special. John made an amplifier for it, which shows how talented he is even at this age, but I'm getting ahead of myself. What else? Oh, yes. I'm tall and thin, a bit too much if you ask me. Roger says I look like a green bean or something, like you could break me in half. It's hardly my favourite mental image. My dark hair curls all over the place, and despite what Roger claims it does not resemble a poodle. Well, maybe a little bit. I have hazel eyes.

After me is Roger, who's fifteen. His middle name is actually Meddows for some reason. I don't know, Mum chose it. He wants to be a doctor, which is frankly surprising with his hyperactivity and craziness - you'd think he was a future comedian or something. He also has a somewhat disturbing obsession with cars. He stands out even in such a mismatched family, because he's a bright blond. It's quite a nice kind of blond, that looks different shades in different lighting. And he also has blue eyes, the whole fairytale prince package. Yes, I'm teasing him. A little. Some payback is in order.

And of course there's John, the youngest at thirteen. John Richard, as he himself likes reminding people. Born on August nineteenth. When he was little, well even littler than he is now, I gave him the nickname Baby and it caught on. Partly because he is the most adorable being in the universe. He loves electrical engineering, and is really good at it. I mentioned the amplifier. His hair is brown, sort of reddish sometimes, and his eyes are this beautifully unusual green-grey. I think that's all you need to know about my brothers for now.

At any rate, this morning is the first day of the winter vacation, and we have something really special planned. A trip to... I don't actually know. Mum and Dad are surprising us, but it's sure to be brilliant. I shower and dress quickly, meeting John on the way to the kitchen.

"How'd you sleep, Baby?" I ask, smiling. Not that I needed to ask, John almost always sleeps like a... well, what he is. He returns the smile with his own, the smile that always makes the room glow. My youngest brother has an... effect on people. He makes them see the beauty in themselves, and in others. He has the power to calm down all three of us with a well-chosen action. I'm incredibly lucky to have him, but then I'm incredibly lucky to have all of them. They're all amazing in their own ways, and I love them all of course. Roger and Freddie are already shouting at each other over something or other.

"I hope you're joking!" Roger's shrill voice is unmistakable, especially when he gets flustered.

"I'm sorry, all right? I really am." That's Freddie, of course. He has the kind of personality that can fill a room, while simultaneously making you feel like you're the only person in it.

"Yeah, well, that doesn't help much after the fact, does it?"

"What do you want me to do, then?"

Mum chooses that moment to step in. "What's the matter?"

"MUM! He threw my best-"

"Language, Roger!" Mum's annoyed exclamation drowns out the next word.

"-pair of maracas away! It took me weeks to save up for them!"

Freddie again, in his signature 'calming Roger down' tone. "I already said, I'm sorry. I'm sure they were wonderful maracas."

I sigh resignedly and pass by them to grab an apple from the fridge. Some day, one day, twenty-four hours will pass without my brothers trying to kill each other. We're out of grapefruit juice, which is probably my fault. Dad and I are the only ones who drink it, if you don't count Roger when he gets desperate and needs something sweet. Speaking of Dad, he's busily packing snacks into a large backpack. He looks up as we enter.

"Good morning. Sleep all right? Ready for the big day?"

John smiles again. He smiles a lot, which is a good thing. "Of course! Can I help with anything?"  
Dad takes out a loaf of bread. "Have something to eat first, but it would be nice if you could get some sandwiches ready for the road. It's going to be a long drive."

John nods, hunting for the cheese. I exchange a glance with Dad. "You know he's going to make cheese toast, right?

Dad smiles. "He always makes cheese toast." Sometimes I wonder if John ever eats anything other than cheese toast and tea - he must, because he's alive and healthy, but somehow it's impossible to imagine. I help pack too, getting some nice-looking fruits and veg. Mum and Dad do still forget sometimes that I'm vegan. Which reminds me... I should probably remind John, since cheese doesn't fall into that category...

The shouting in the hallway seems to have died down, without any serious injuries. Freddie and Roger walk in, serving themselves cereal and talking animatedly about something or other. I glance at the clock: six-thirty. We have a good four and a half hours before we need to leave.


	2. My Sweeter Half Instead, All Dead And Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 was mostly fun and games, and so is most of this one. However, this is where the story gets dark, so consider yourselves warned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m aware that some people don’t like Mary Austin. At the moment I’m not planning on giving her a big role, so I don’t know how and if my portrayal of her would go.

It's nine a.m., and we're in that pleasant stage where everything is ready and everyone can just relax for a couple of hours until it's time to go. John's just come out of the kitchen with a very large bag of sandwiches.

"I made everyone cheese toast!"

"Thanks," I tease gently. " Very considerate of your vegan brother."

To my surprise, he laughs. "Don't worry, I made yours with vegan cheese."

"Oh. Well, that's all right then." Sometimes even I get surprised by the way he thinks of everything.

"Anybody for tea?" Mum shouts cheerfully from the kitchen.

"I'll take one with, um, one sugar." John calls back.

"No sugar in mine, please." I say.

Roger, of course, has to do things weirdly. "I'll have one with one and three-sevenths sugars."

"Three sugars, Rog?" Mum's head pops out from the kitchen.

"One and three-sevenths."

" _Seven_ sugars? Even for you that seems a bit excessive."

"One and three sevenths!"

Mum heads back into the kitchen. "I'm putting in three."

Roger sighs. "Why does that never work?"

I try to give him a meaningful look, but I'm not certain he gets the message. I suddenly realise I forgot to pack a book for the car, and dash in and out of my room for an astrophysics textbook I'm in the middle of. As I push it gently into my backpack, Freddie runs over.

"Um... Can I talk to you for a second?"

I turn towards him, closing the zipper with some effort. "Since when does my brother have to ask?"

He seems nervous, almost shy. When he finally speaks, his voice is lowered.

"You remember your friend Mary? The one you introduced me to?"

"Yeah..." She's a classmate of mine. Pretty smart, and kind of nice. Wanted to go out with me once, but I've been dating Chrissie Mullen for the past three and a half months. I thought she and Freddie could get along well.

"We, um, started talking a bit. She's absolutely nice. I can see why you're friends-"

" **FREDDIE HAS A CRUUUUUSSSSSHHHHH!!!!!** " John's chant interrupts us. How on earth did he get such good hearing? Freddie turns towards him in annoyance.

"Shut up!"

"Don't say that!" Roger appears from around the corner. "What if the car crashed today and John and I were both killed and the last thing you'd said to us was 'shut up'?"

Freddie raises an eyebrow, an art he's spent years perfecting. "That's a bit morbid, Rog. Have you considered applying for Brian's position?"

I roll my eyes and take another book. "Why do you always end arguments by insulting me?"  
"That was a compliment, darling! You have a unique talent for morbidity!"

"Not helping, Fred. Really not helping."

I finish my struggle with the bags and sit down on the couch, taking my phone out to look through Freddie's latest art posts. His avatar, a selfie with a cat-ear filter, smiles from the screen. I scroll through some outfit designs, and a drawing inspired by a poem I wrote. That's another thing I do sometimes, write songs. They're probably nothing special though.

"Meow?" One of our cats, Pixie, has sneaked up on me and apparently decided that my lap is more comfortable than the sofa cushions. I can't say I agree with that, but I absent-mindedly stroke her while the others go on making their various commotions in the hall. I've always liked animals, or anything alive really. Badgers, hedgehogs, cats, foxes, plants... It's not just the stars that show nature's majesty and beauty. Maybe, someday, I could find a career that combines all my fields... But that's probably as much a fantasy as my becoming a rockstar. Who knows, though? Life has a funny way of doing things.

I don't notice the passage of time, but after what seems like ten minutes Mum is calling everyone to the door. I gently extricate myself from Pixie, stroking her in a gesture of farewell. Our other cat, Delilah, also comes to the door after us. Somehow we manage to all get to the car and in our seats. As usual, Roger asks if he can drive, and as usual, Dad tells him to wait a couple years.

Dad's driving today, and Mum takes the passenger seat next to him. In the middle row, John sits on the left with me next to him; and in the back, Freddie on the left and Roger on the right, separated somewhat by the different configuration of the seats in the back row.

I buckle myself in, moving aside a toy car that's been floating around since Roger was seven. He's officially too old for that sort of thing, but I wouldn't put it past him. Mum puts on a Beatles playlist, and we hit the road.

Ten minutes later, John's already opened a packet of crisps. He offers me one, but I'm not particularly hungry at the moment - and anyway, I need the use of my mouth because one of my favourite songs is playing and I can't not sing along. Somehow, all of us except John end up joining in by the time the chorus comes around.

"Hey, you've got to hide your love away! Heyyy, you've got to hiiide your loove away!" Maybe not the most cheerful song in existence, but I've always been drawn to the darkness. And anyway, I love singing.

"Hey, Baby!" Roger calls from the seat behind me. "I don't hear you!"

John smiles shyly. "Roger, you know I can't sing."

"Rubbish," Roger replies firmly. "Have some confidence for once."

"I..." But by now all three of us are firmly encouraging John, and he caves in by the time the next song comes on.

"Bright are the stars above... Dark is the sky... I know this love of mine... Will never die..."

I realise that I've gone silent. I never realised quite how adorable John's singing voice is... I really need to see about the self-confidence thing. I start scribbling some lyric ideas in a notes app, one of various bits and pieces that I don't want to forget. I mutter to myself, organising my thoughts.

"Honey, you'll stay alive... No, that doesn't quite sound right..."

I eventually settle on 'survive'. As I close the memo, a message from Chrissie pops up in my notifications, bringing a smile to my face. My pleasure in the conversation must be a bit too obvious, because John smirks playfully on my left. "Are you talking to _her_?"

"Maybe." I give my best impression of a noncommittal shrug, returning the phone to my pocket. Unfortunately, Roger's overheard.

" _Chrissie_?"

I brace myself for the onslaught of teases, but it never comes. Thirty-nine things seem to happen in one moment.

The car swerves suddenly to the right, pushing me against the door. I briefly register an orange vehicle heading towards us from the left, and then a violent impact. Roger's high-pitched scream comes from behind, and I act almost instinctively as time seems to stop, throwing myself over John in a desperate attempt to do something. He stares at me, too terrified to scream, his gentle eyes wide in fear. I can hardly notice anything else. Another shock, and I realise that I'm hurt. Probably pretty seriously, judging by the pain trying to intrude on my consciousness... I can't hear screams anymore.

"It's okay, Baby," I try to say, but my vocal cords are frozen.

 _Please_ , I think as the world seems to go dark around me, _if there's a God or any kind of justice under the sky... don't hurt them. Take me instead. Take me..._


	3. Let Us Cling Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts getting nice and long here. My chapter lengths are very uneven but from here on I think word count stays firmly above 1500.

Time seems to pass in a blur. I slip in and out of consciousness, dimly aware of voices... Someone carrying me... When I'm conscious, there's pain. Unbearable pain. When I'm not, there are nightmares. I relive the crash over and over again... Roger's scream... the terror in John's eyes... the moment before, when everything seemed perfectly normal...Is somebody crying?

And suddenly, I'm awake. Fully awake. Alive, it seems. Lying somewhere soft and comfortable. My right arm feels strange. Quiet voices, somewhere near. I open my eyes.

A hospital. I was expecting that. My arm's in some kind of sling, which explains the feeling. My head hurts. Next to the bed, Roger and John sit talking quietly. They don't seem to have noticed I'm awake. Both of them look rather the worse for wear, with some bandages and cuts, but they're alive. And not too seriously injured, it appears. The momentary comfort from this observation almost distracts me from realising who _isn't_ there.

And when I do realise, it won't let go. Mum... Dad... Freddie... They're only hurt, right? Please let them only be hurt....

My involuntary gasp draws the younger boys' attention. John runs over to me, bending down and putting a hand on my shoulder. From closer up, I realise that he's been crying.

"Brian? Can you hear me?"

"Yeah. You all right, Baby?"

That gets a hesitant smile. "Shouldn't that be my line?"

"Probably," I admit. "Where is everyone?"

John's smile fades. "Freddie was hurt pretty bad, but the doctors say he'll be fine with time."  
He hasn't mentioned our parents, I notice. I don't want to ask, don't want to find that my worst suspicions are true.

I try to be as gentle as possible. "Mum... Dad?"

He starts to say something and turns away, eyes filling with tears. Roger speaks for the first time, his voice slow and broken.

"They're gone, Bri. They're both gone."

I can't say I wasn't expecting this, but hearing it said still shocks me. One moment... It could hardly have been more than a few seconds... And everything's gone. Broken. I'll never even know where they were planning to take us, that day. That day-

"How long?"

"Two days," Roger says. "Not counting today. Nobody would tell us what was happening with you... I thought you were going to die..."

It's strange, but I'd never realised just how much Roger cares about me. I'd known it objectively, of course - we're brothers, after all, and we kind of like each other - but now, seeing and hearing his pain at the mere thought of losing me, it sinks in suddenly just how lucky I am to have this family. Or what's left of it, at least.

John manages to speak again, quietly, hesitating.

"They said... what you did... you probably saved my life. I'm glad to be alive, don't get me wrong, but... don't ever scare us like that again, okay? I'd never have forgiven myself if you'd died for me."

I smile, trying to ease the tension. "I'd do it again if I had to, Baby. A million more times. I'd have done it even if there was no possibility of survival. I'd never have forgiven myself if I hadn't done it and you'd died."

Roger steps in. "How about you both agree not to die? Ever?"

"Well, I'm not quite sure I want to live forever-" I begin, but John cuts me off.

"I want you to!"

I start thinking of a reply, but find myself overwhelmed by the outpouring of love from both of them. Was it always like this? I've never felt this close to my brothers before. I know that difficult situations often bring people closer, but I'd always hoped that I'd never have to experience it first-hand - I can't help feeling that the beauty of the moment is marred by the circumstances that brought it about. I wish- But I can't think about that, not yet. I know that the moment I let myself concentrate on what I've lost, I'll collapse. And I can't let that happen, not in front of my brothers, and not while everything is still so uncertain.

Oh, no. I'm not crying, am I? I turn towards the wall, hiding the tears that rose up without my noticing. I have to be strong for them. Funny, how right now it feels like the other way around.  
A blonde doctor walks into the room, smiling as she notices I'm awake. She walks over to me, glancing at the cast on my arm.

"How are you feeling, Brian? You've been incredibly brave. I'm Dr. Parrish, and I've been looking after you for the last two days."

The words and tone are somewhat annoying, speaking like I'm a little boy getting a vaccination or something. Still, I'm sure she means well. I try to rise to a sitting position, but she stops me.  
"Better not just yet, until I've finished examining you. The way things are going there should be no reason to worry, but it can't hurt to be careful."

"Right." I lie back down. "What happened, exactly? To me, I mean?"

Dr. Parrish looks over a notebook in her hand. "Broken arm, various blunt force injuries, mild concussion. No internal bleeding, luckily. You should make a full recovery in about two months, although there might be some scarring on your arms and chest. And, judging by your current condition, you should be able to go home in a couple of days."

The thought of two months without being able to play guitar washes over me, followed by guilt for being upset by such an insignificant thing at a time like this. As for the scarring... I like wearing long sleeves, and it hardly matters when I could have been killed. I try to keep my voice as steady as possible while I ask my next question.

"What about my older brother? I was told that he's seriously injured?

The doctor hesitates for a moment. "He should also recover more or less completely, but he'll probably have to stay here for a few weeks. There's... a chance..." She trails off, but I don't let the subject go.

"A chance that what?"

"It's a very small chance, but it probably would be best if you knew. Many of the injuries he sustained were in the lower half of the body, and, well... He could become wheelchair-bound. Probably and hopefully temporarily, but there is a tiny possibility that it could be permanent."  
John's eyes widen, and Roger stifles a gasp; it's clear that they haven't been told of this either.  
It's a small chance, I remind myself. Everything will probably be fine. Except for Mum and Dad- No. Don't think about it. Dr. Parrish turns to leave.

"I'll tell the nurses to bring you something to eat. You're vegan, right?"

I nod, still processing the information. The realisation begins to dawn on me that I'm exhausted, the stress of so much shock while I'm still weak taking its toll. I settle into a more comfortable position, trying to clear my mind enough that I can fall asleep. Roger stands up.

"We should probably go check on Freddie."

John takes a firm hold of my left hand before leaving, looking seriously into my eyes.

"I know I've said this about thirty-nine times, but I'm so glad you're all right. And, just to remind you, I love you. Roger loves you. Freddie loves you. We're going to be okay, I'm sure."

I get a feeling the last part is more to reassure me than because he really believes it, but I'm too tired to think about it too hard. I squeeze his hand back, smiling.

"And I love you guys. Forever."

* * *

A day later, I'm allowed to get out of bed - I can walk pretty much fine, although my legs hurt about as much as most of the rest of me - and go over to visit Freddie. He's conscious and seems pretty cheerful considering the circumstances. Various equipment is connected to him; I don't know what all of it does, but it's a bit scary to see so much effort put into keeping my brother alive. I take a chair by the bed, unsure how to start the conversation. He notices this, and does it for me.

"So... Brian. Glad to see you up. I missed you."

"I missed you, but you know that, of course." I reply. Talking to Freddie is easier than to the younger boys, because I don't feel like I have to be strong for him. I can say everything I've been thinking of, everything. "This whole thing, this situation... It's crazy. Less than a week ago, we were all home and safe... We had parents... I just feel so alone. So helpless."

"But you're not alone!" Freddie says vehemently. "You've got us. Or do we not count for some reason?"

I pause, trying to collect my thoughts better.

"Of course you count. That's not what I... There's nobody to look after us now. I don't know what's going to happen, or where we're going to go... You're an adult already, and I will be in a few months, but John and Roger... Well, they're children. Roger would probably kill me if he knew I'd said that, but it's true. What's going to happen to them? Foster care, orphanage or something? There's too much to think about, and I have no idea where even to start. Or to finish. Or anything in between. I'm just... I'm not ready!"

The last sentence feels embarrassing to say - childish, petulant, selfish even - but it does feel good to be able to say it. And to know that the person I'm saying it to won't judge me for it, or think less of me. Freddie listens, and speaks calmly and gently, in a tone that indicates he's put a lot of thought into the words.

"You don't have to think about it, darling. I've had plenty of time to, and I think I've decided what we should do - if you agree, of course. The worst thing, as I see it, that we could do now is to split up. The time to come, and probably even the years to come, won't be easy at all, and we'll need each other every step of the way if we don't want to let it break us. Do you agree?"

I nod, still not sure where this is going.

"And the best way for us to stick together that I can think of... As you said, I'm an adult now. I don't feel like one, but that doesn't really matter where legal business is concerned. I could become your legal guardian, and we can all stay together without having to send anyone to foster care. It's going to be difficult, of course, without any proper adults around, but I think we're mature and intelligent enough to manage. At any rate, you and John should be. However, it might put an unfair amount of responsibility on you. You've probably already been told that I'll have to stay here for a few more weeks, which means that until that time you'll be the de facto adult among us. I'm sure that you can handle the responsibility if you have confidence, and I know that Rog and Baby would do everything in their power to make it easier for you, but if you don't feel able-"

"I'll try." I don't know where my confidence comes from, but I do feel that, even if this is a mad idea and fails terribly, there are worse things than giving it a try. "I'm probably going to make a ton of mistakes, and when it comes down to it I'm still just seventeen, but I'll do my best. For as long as I can."

Freddie smiles. "That's what I was hoping to hear. And in a few weeks, a month maybe, I'll be able to come and take some of the burden from you. Now, why don't you go and call the others in? We should probably run the plan by them too-"

"I love it!" Roger shouts, bursting into the room and dragging John after him. "Brian, you can do it, I know, you're brilliant, and we'll help you every step of the way!"

Before I can react, he tackles me in a hug, making sure not to hurt my broken arm.

"You were eavesdropping?" I ask, embarrassed at the thought that they heard my outburst of self-pity. John looks uncomfortable. "We only heard the last bit. And I also think it's an amazing plan, and you'll be just fine, and I don't know what else to say but I love you and you'll be wonderful!"

He joins the hug, leaving me feeling a bit squashed but very happy.

A week later, the three of us come back home.


	4. How I Loved You, How I Cried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monica Dickens (1915 - 1992), great-grandaughter of Charles Dickens, was a brilliant writer in her own right. Her book The House At World’s End was an invaluable source of inspiration for my tale of four siblings caring for each other without adult help. Go check her out.

Only two weeks? Not even? Less than two weeks since everything changed so awfully and suddenly. But as John, Roger, and I stand outside the door, waiting for me to find the right key, I think about just how much every one of us has changed.

John wasn't injured very seriously in the accident, and an unobservant eye might see no significant change. To me, though, having known and loved him for almost thirteen and a half years, the difference is painfully obvious in his face. The bright eyes, sparkling with shy, delicate innocence, hardened and deepened like molten glass cooled in a mould. The lines of his expression, tinged by the melancholy and darkness that will never truly leave. As if someone had wrapped his cheerfulness and optimism in cellophane, a thin, clinging film of darkness that coats even his happy moments and casts an almost imperceptible shadow over everything he does and thinks. It hurts so much, more than I have words to explain, every time I look at him and see everything that's gone forever.

Roger withstood the tragedy rather better, but when he lets his guard down I can see that he, too, is more deeply affected than he lets on. His jokes more restrained, his behaviour towards us more gentle, his manner more mature and perceptive. Luckily he hasn't lost his optimism, a department in which I've always been rather lacking. It wouldn't be exaggerating to say that all too many times during the past week his encouragement and hope has been the only thing that kept me passing the open windows. He's left with physical signs of the trauma as well, a faint but long scar arcing across his collarbone on the left. It's not very noticeable unless you get close, but he's a bit upset about it, although he tries to take it in his stride and joke that we finally have a chance of catching up to him in the looks department now.

As for me... The doctors were right about the scars, on my chest and upper arms. They don't really bother me, as it's much easier to hide them than not to - and anyway, the scars are a reminder that things could easily have been much worse, and that I'm alive. A reminder that I saved my brother's life, that when the situation was desperate I managed to take action and make a difference. Mentally? Talking about myself is hard. Obviously, I'm shaken. I'm sad. I'm in shock. I'm probably some things that don't start with the letter "S" too. When Freddie suggested the plan - that the four of us live together and look after each other, with me in charge until he's released from the hospital - it all seemed so right, so simple. Not easy, maybe, but worth the challenge. Now, as we're about to properly put it into action, I'm not so sure. I know that my younger brothers want it to succeed at least as much as I do, and I know that I can count on both of them for whatever needs to be done. What I don't know is whether I can count on myself.  
Still, it feels too late to back out now. Freddie's applied for custody of us, and all signs point to his being accepted. And I can't let the others down, not after I promised I'd do it. I don't even know what would happen to them if I didn't accept. And so, trying to hide my anxieties, I open the door.

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It doesn't feel right, coming back home as though nothing has changed. At some point, we'll be expected to sort everything out, and deal with inheritance and stuff - something none of us were expecting to do for at least some forty years from now. Nothing has been disturbed since we left almost two weeks ago, except for the cats which one of our neighbours took initiative to feed. 

I'm the first one to walk in, and my glance immediately falls on a book I forgot to take with, still lying on the sofa with its bookmark in the same place. Pixie runs up to fawn over me, and Delilah is already rubbing herself against John. I wonder how much they understand, and if they can also sense the change. Animals are often more perceptive than we expect. They do both seem very pleased to see us, but it could just be in the ordinary way after such a long absence. Delilah is Freddie's special cat, and, observing closely, I do seem to see a certain tenseness about her.

Roger walks to the kitchen, checking our food supplies. It's an intelligent move, I realise, especially as not everything in the fridge will have lasted all the time we were gone and it would be better to deal with the unpleasantness of mouldy cucumbers and such sooner rather than later.

"Right," I say, trying to get used to my new position of authority. "We should probably start by making sure we have the essentials. Roger, can you check for any food that's gone off and deal with it? John, make a list of what we have and can make easily without too much advanced preparation. I should be the one to go shopping, because unfortunately I doubt you'd be able to read my handwriting if I made a list."

The boys nod and set about their jobs, occasionally calling questions or reminders about what we do and don't have. John wants to make sure I get cheese, as most of our supply hasn't lasted. I remember that we're out of grapefruit juice, and Roger suggests plenty of chocolate. Somehow it does feel natural, the three of us working together almost seamlessly and unconsciously.  
I toss together a quick salad for breakfast, from some of the vegetables that haven't gone bad yet but shouldn't be risked for much longer. It's hard to mess up salad. Then I go to buy some more food and things, leaving the others to relax after our recent ordeal.

* * *

Shopping takes longer than I expect, and I don't get home for a while, partly due to the fact that the nearest supermarket is a twenty minutes' walk away. It would probably be a good idea for me to get driving lessons soon, if I can manage to get myself in a car again after what happened.  
I come in and start putting the groceries away, noting the unmistakable scent of cheese toast in the kitchen. Roger and John are both nowhere to be seen - resting, I assume. Just as I finish stowing the chocolate in the pantry, a knock comes at the door. I open it, pleasantly surprised to see Chrissie.

Oddly enough, we haven't communicated since the accident, and I'm not sure she even knows what happened.

She smiles nervously. "I heard about what happened, Brian. I'm sorry. Not that it probably helps much, but I'm sorry."

I return the smile, trying to make it as reassuring as possible. Why is it always me who ends up comforting people? "I'm glad you're here. I missed you. There was a moment... I didn't know if I'd see you again."

Chrissie seems even more uncomfortable, oddly. "I'm also glad. That you did. See me again, I mean. How are you managing?"

I consider for a moment. "Considering that I've temporarily become a surrogate parent to my little brothers, not too badly. But it's probably going to get harder. Still, I've got you as my moral support, so things could be worse."

Her face tenses into a curious expression. "About that..." She swallows. "There really isn't a gentle way to say this, is there?"

"Say what?" I can feel my smile vanishing, replaced by a sense of foreboding, and somewhere deep underneath a dreadful hint of what she might mean.

"This... situation you're in... I won't say it's tricky, because that would be stating the obvious. It's complicated. And messy. And..." Her long pause strengthens that awful thought. "It would probably be better... for both of us... if I wasn't in the way."

"What do you mean?" I ask, although by now I know pretty certainly. If there's any chance... I've got to be misunderstanding, or maybe she'll change her mind... "When were you ever in my way?"

"Fine, I'll say it straight out. I think, given the circumstances, and given... other things, it would be better if it ended. The two of us."

The words... I can't say I didn't see this coming. But hearing it, like that, feels like someone punched me in the arm. The broken one. Kicking me when I've been on the floor for two weeks.

"You think this is _better_?" I try to keep my voice level, but the resentment creeps in. "I've lost so much already, and now you want me to lose you as well?"

"I'm sorry. Really. Again, I suppose it doesn't help much. But we're kids. We'll grow up, look back on this, find other people. This isn't the end of the world, not for me and definitely not for you."

"You..." My usual knack for defusing situations seems to have taken the morning off. "How long have you been planning this? Don't pretend it's just what happened two weeks ago. Why didn't you tell me? Why did you have to wait until the worst moment, when my life is already in ruin?"  
I can't think of anything to say that won't show my anger. That won't make the conversation even more tense. But Chrissie doesn't seem fazed.

"I didn't expect you to react differently. Maybe it would be better if I left, to give you time to process everything. I don't hate you, you know that. I like you, quite a lot. And it's not your fault."  
She turns to leave.

"So this is it?" I call after her, my voice shaking. "You've taken my love and now you desert me when I need someone the most? I thought I knew you better than that."

She doesn't respond, and as the door closes behind her I don't even lock it. What on earth was she _thinking_? I stare at the closed door as if I could pull her back through the wood by staring hard enough.

"First breakup?"

It's uncanny, the way Roger can sneak up on you when he wants to, especially considering how loud he usually is. I don't remember giving him permission to join the conversation. Normally, I might welcome the distraction, but currently the whole emotional buildup is too much. I don't turn to face him, saying coldly, "I'm really not in the mood, Rog."

"You don't want to talk about it?" He walks forwards, so that I can see his face.

"Not your kind of talking."

"You assume I'm going to make fun of it." The tone is almost diplomatic. Has he been taking lessons?

I sit down. If this conversation can't be avoided, it shows signs of being long. "You really don't have a stellar track record."

"For dealing with breakups? If I wasn't good at it, I'd have become a permanent emotional wreck two years ago if not earlier."

I smile in spite of myself. I still haven't figured out this new Roger yet, the mature one. But he does seem quite helpful at the moment.

"So what exactly am I supposed to do, Mr Expert? And should I be worried that my little brother has had more relationships than me?"

"Well..." Roger joins me on the sofa. "It's complicated, and quite possibly. I definitely worry about myself plenty for both of us though. Honestly, I've never tried this with somebody else. But, I guess, if there's anything at all you want to say, I don't know, see where this goes? I guess?"

For a moment, I want to try and think methodically about my words, but the second I start talking they don't seem to care very much for my plans.

"As if I didn't have enough to be upset about already and she goes and pulls this and it's clear she's been thinking about this for a while so why couldn't she at least have waited a little longer for a time when I wasn't already in turmoil and could think about it more logically and why did she never try talking if she had a problem she just went from zero to dumping me and now I'm alone in the most difficult situation of my life with one less person to rely on and I thought I could handle this but I couldn't and I'll ruin everything for all of you and all I wanted was to be a good person and she didn't even give me a proper reason or explanation just made up some obvious lie so I'd feel better and walked out because she couldn't deal with my reaction and-"

"Whoa." Roger throws up his hands comically. "I said talk about it, I didn't say all at once."

"Sorry," I try to mutter, but the interruption of my anger has made room for a different feeling. My voice cracks.

"Sorry? Sorry for what - why aren't you looking at me? Brian?"

I don't answer. I can't answer. I look away, to the wall, trying to fight back the tears. It doesn't work, and Roger gently pulls me back towards him.

"How am I supposed to help if you won't let me see what you feel?"

"Sorry..." I manage again, through my tears. "Idiot... getting worked up about this when there's so much worse we've been through..."

"Now that's just slander," Roger says firmly. "Because there are many things I could call you - green bean, poodle, boy genius - but if that list was a thousand words long, 'idiot' would not be one of them. You're one of the most intelligent people I know, and you're definitely smarter than me. It's perfectly fine to be upset about this - your emotions don't care what else is going on in your life or if you should be feeling this way, they just do their emotion thing on their own. All right? And you're not alone. You're absolutely not alone. Not unless you're planning to bump off Freddie, John, and I, in which case I would really appreciate some warning first."

I look up, my vision blurring. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be the strong one, the responsible one. And instead I'm putting everything on you."

Roger takes my hand gently. "Didn't I just explain about that? All right, I'll try again. More clearly. This situation isn't easy. It isn't normal. And if you want to pull through, you've got to be strong and believe in yourself. But it's not always possible, when things are like this. So you have us, to do the believing for you. I've always believed in you, and I'll believe in you even more strongly until you're ready to believe in yourself again. Understood?"

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Suddenly, Roger pulls me into a tight hug. He doesn't say anything more, just holds me for several minutes. Eventually, he speaks quietly.

"Are you feeling better now?"

I breathe deeply. "Maybe a little bit."

"Well," he says firmly, "you should feel a lot better. Because I'm not letting go until you do."

* * *

I don't know how much time passes. It's not my highest priority. But eventually, we separate by unspoken agreement. Roger thrusts something into my hand; a bar of dark chocolate.

"So you already found it," I smile. "It's like a sixth sense."

He laughs. "Don't embarrass me. Just eat it. If it's good against Dementors, it's good against breakups."

Now I'm laughing as well. "You know, Rog, for a Slytherin, you have a lot of emotional intelligence."

"Why, thank you." We eat the chocolate, and a few more moments pass quietly.

As I get up to discard the wrapper, he stops me gently.

"I forgot... There's a reason I came out here to talk to you. I understand if you don't feel up to it, with what's just happened, but I think you should try talking to John. Since you left, he's stayed in bed. Crying. He won't talk to me. I made him cheese toast..." A slight pause, as if Roger himself can't quite believe what he's saying. His voice is now the one on the verge of breaking. "He hasn't touched it. He's never left cheese toast uneaten, no matter how upset he is. If you could just go and... I don't know, think of something I haven't? You have a way with people..."

"I'll see." I say immediately. I'm still rather flustered from the day's earlier events, but I can't possibly leave John like that. I head over to the younger boys' room.

It's a bit larger than mine and Freddie's, so they have two beds by opposite walls instead of a bunk bed. John's bed is currently occupied by a lump of blankets, shaking and emitting heartbreaking sobs; the kind of crying done by someone who doesn't care if they're heard and just wants to get their feelings out. A plate of cheese toast rests on the bedside table - untouched, as Roger said. I sit down on the bed gently, placing my hand on the blankets around where I judge John's shoulder to be.

"John? Baby?" I try gently, in as calming a voice as I can muster. There is no answer, but the heap of blankets moves slightly, nestling against me. I carefully pull them aside, revealing John's tear-stained face looking up at me.

"Is there... anything I can help with? Hug, listen, tea? I see you already have cheese toast..." I try again, and John moves closer to me. I put my arm around him, waiting for him to be ready. It can't be more than twenty minutes since Roger was doing almost the same thing to me, but I'm a fast learner, and besides, seeing my baby brother like this make my own troubles seem like nothing. His tears dampen my shirt as he curls even closer to me, but that hardly matters. Words start coming out between the sobs, broken and with a great effort.

"I thought... I was ready... Come back... Remember how it was before... I wasn't... Everything..." A sudden fit of crying, even stronger than before, overcomes him. "I realised, again..." Hysterical by now, the next words are hardly comprehensible.

" _They're dead... Mum's dead, Dad's dead... It didn't feel real before and now I KNOW it and I just... can't..._ "

I don't know how to respond. It hit me, too, for a bit, when I walked in - the sudden understanding that this is real and permanent and there's nothing anyone can do. And for John... Always so young, so _innocent_... It must be really unbearable. I find myself unable to do anything but be there, giving what little comfort I can for a loss there can never be any true comfort for.

"I'm scared," he whispers, leaning on me and closing his eyes - like when he used to run to my room in the middle of the night after a nightmare, and end up falling asleep in my arms while I comforted him. Only, this time, it won't be a distant memory in the morning.

"It's going to be all right, Baby. Someday."

Somehow, I really do feel that. Maybe it's the delicate moment, the two of us sitting together like small children again. Clinging to each other against the unknown terrors of the night. I find myself remembering how I used to be terrified of lightning, thinking somebody was tearing the stars apart. I start singing, almost to myself, making up the words on the spot.

"So, dear friends, your love has gone...  
Only tears to dwell upon...  
I dare not say, as the wind must blow,  
So a love is lost, a love is won...  
Go to sleep and dream again,  
Soon your hopes will rise, and then...  
From all this gloom life can start anew,  
And there'll be no crying soon."

  
John's breathing slowly becomes more regular, the gasps and tears dying away and giving way to the calm, peaceful rhythm of sleep. It must be years since we've done this, I realise. Since I last calmed him to sleep in my arms like this.

He still seems so small, just like three years ago - or was it more? He's not necessarily small for his age, but his delicate build and features combined with my height seem to accentuate the difference between us. I lean back against the wall, letting my mind clear and pushing aside the day's troubles. The door opens, quietly, and Roger walks in.

A quick exchange of looks, and we both decide what to do. Gently, carefully, we manage to move him off me and cover him with the blankets. Looking out the window, I realise that the sun is going down. Roger and I eat a quick dinner, and then we go to bed - him, being careful not to wake John in the bed next to him, and me, the thought suddenly flashes like the lightning I used to dread, for the first time in my life sleeping alone in my room. Without Freddie's comforting presence in the bunk above. Slowly, the gentle glow of the stars on the ceiling lulls me to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m lazy about research, so I might be completely misrepresenting the character of Chrissie Mullen, and if so I’m sorry. I have no idea if Brian was ever really afraid of lightning.


	5. Having To Learn To Pay The Price

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On my use of language: I am a native English speaker, and at a pretty high level. However, I’ve read a lot of late 19/early 20th century stories, and I’ve fallen in love with a lot of the slang and expressions from back then. Also, I’m not particularly familiar with or fond of a lot of modern slang (Sorry that makes me sound old, I am most definitely not old). So, apologies if my turns of phrase seem a bit antiquated at times.

I sleep better than I'd expected, the afternoon's events calming me somewhat. For the first time since that day, I don't have nightmares. I dream about the four of us, united, just hanging out together. Being there for each other. Just before I wake up, the dream turns dark. I'm fighting someone with a knife, trying to protect the others... As the masked opponent aims towards my heart, Roger lunges between us, taking the blow meant for me and collapsing... I scream, and wake up with a gasp to see my window open and a dark form climbing through - a silhouette of a man against the moonlight.

I lie motionless for a moment, unsure what to do, before he starts advancing towards me, and I catch the gleam of metal in his hand. Jumping up as quickly as I can, I make a run for the door but the intruder blocks me. Jump out the window? Too high, and I can't land smoothly without injuring my arm further - and who's to say he won't follow me out? In my current condition I'm hardly the most agile.

As my brain goes into overdrive I consider shouting; someone would be sure to hear it and - and be attacked as well? I can't risk bringing either of them into danger. The room isn't easy to navigate in the dark with my height, and many crashes and bangs come from various disturbed objects. I find myself trapped against the wall, my assailant holding the knife against my throat.

"Why?" I gasp, in a desperate attempt to gain time. I hardly dare to breathe with the pressure of the blade against my windpipe. The answering voice is mildly amused, but with a strong tinge of annoyance.

"You were never meant to survive."

I try to process the implication of the statement, but all signs point to my not having much time to do so. Luckily, at that moment, the door bursts open, flooding the room with light from the hallway.

There's only just time for me to recognise the newcomer as John - probably the worst development that could have taken place - before he apparently processes the situation and lunges at the intruder. In comparison to the tall, well-built man, he's tiny, but the momentary surprise catches my attacker off guard, and he stumbles backwards.

I also freeze for a moment, trying to recover my breath, knowing I have to intervene but unable to move. Running footsteps from the hall outside signal Roger's imminent arrival, and I can just about see him racing towards us.

It's over before either of us can respond; John dropping to the floor and clutching at his chest, the attacker's knife suddenly dipped in red. Apparently unwilling to take on all of us, he climbs back out the window and vanishes into the night. The shock finally snaps me back into action, and I run towards John, kneeling by his side and trying not to panic completely at the sight of the red stain spreading over the left side of his shirt.

"You can't do this to me, Baby!" I try to sound firm, but it's hard with the tears threatening to burst out.

"Oh, my..." Roger joins me, gently rolling back John's shirt to reveal the injury. "Closet by my bed, top shelf, first-aid kit. Run!"

I'm running before he finishes the sentence, quickly finding the kit and returning. Roger acts quickly and with apparent calmness, and I've never been more thankful for the first-aid course he took this summer.

"It looks worse than it is, I think. If it had reached the heart or lung we'd know, so I think it's pretty shallow, and the blade was pretty small from what I can tell... The main thing I think we need to worry about is blood loss or infection, and with quick and proper treatment everything should be fine. What makes me a lot more concerned is the fact that somebody broke in and tried to kill us!"

I hold John's hand tightly, more to steady myself than him. Surprisingly, he seems calm, the eyes that usually tear up at the first sign of pain or trouble looking up at me with a faint smile. "I think it was me he was trying to kill, and John just... got in the way. But why would anyone try to kill me? And there was another thing he said... Something that makes me think... But we should talk about that later. When we can give it our full attention."

Roger finishes bandaging the wound. "I think it's safe to move him now. Help me get him onto your bed."

We lift John onto the bed, making sure not to disturb the bandages. I bring over the chair by my desk, and sit by him. I feel responsible for what happened, for not having been able to manage by myself. If I'd been stronger, or quicker, he might not have been hurt... But it's no use worrying about that now. I try to find a more productive outlet for my hyperactive thoughts.

"How are you feeling?"

John smiles. "It hurts, but I trust Roger's medicine skills. Are you all right? You didn't look too good when I came in."

"I'm fine, thanks to you. But you could have died! I thought, when I saw you fall-" I trail off. "You shouldn't have done it. You know you didn't stand a chance against him.

"You'd definitely have died if I hadn't. And besides, you saved _my_ life. I owed you."

I allow myself a laugh. "You've got me there."

Roger paces restlessly, a serious expression on his face. "I don't know who that man was, or why he attacked you. But if I ever see him again I'll kill him."

For once, I don't feel that his fury is an overreaction. "I'll help. Not because of what he tried to do to me, but because of what he did to John."

John rolls his eyes. "You're talking as though he killed me or something."

"He probably would have if Roger hadn't come in!"

"Would he? Really? I seem to remember your saying that you thought he was after you."

"I... No, you're right. I wasn't thinking. But that doesn't change the fact that he was willing to attack you, and it could have been fatal. Someone who's willing to kill a child, just because he's in the way... And there's another thing. But it might be better if we discussed that in the morning."

Roger glances at the window. "It's already morning, Brian. Say it."

I follow his gaze, and realise that I hadn't noticed the sky getting lighter outside. The disturbance must have been later than I thought.

"Fine." I arrange my thoughts for a moment, then start explaining. "Just before you came in, John, that man said something that I can only draw one conclusion from. He said that I was never meant to survive."

"Survive what- Oh. Do you think-" I can see the realisation dawning in Roger's eyes, and I nod.

"The only thing that makes sense is that he was talking about the accident. And that would mean..."

John also seems to understand. "It wasn't an accident."

Roger continues the thought. "Somebody caused the accident that killed Mum and Dad. Intentionally. And tonight, they tried to finish the job. But why would anyone want to kill our parents? And why would anyone want to kill _us_?"

"I have no idea," I admit. "I don't suppose they could have been secret agents or something? Maybe they accidentally discovered something that somebody didn't want them to know? But that still wouldn't explain why we're in danger since we don't know anything. Unless someone thinks we do..."

"Do you think Freddie's safe?" John asks suddenly. "He's even more vulnerable than you at the moment, and we don't know if anyone's guarding him."

The thought hadn't occurred to me, but I realise its wisdom. "At the very least, we should tell him. And I daresay going to the police wouldn't hurt either."

"Will they believe us?" Roger asks. "We don't exactly have much evidence aside from John's injury-"

"It's their job to help people. We don't have a reason to lie to them, and we could be attacked again. If they don't believe us, we'll deal with that then."

"Right. I was getting carried away, wasn't I?"

"Maybe a little bit," I smile. "This whole situation feels like somebody getting carried away."

I get up. "I should probably get something for breakfast..."

"I'll do it," Roger says. "You deserve a break after the whole almost being murdered thing. Oh, and Brian?"

"Yeah?"

"I think, for now, you should move to our room. None of us should sleep alone after what happened tonight. Having to deal with all three of us at once might deter him, and if not we'll all be there to defend each other."

"All three of us, protecting each other..." I nod. "That sounds good."

"So does breakfast," John puts in, making us laugh. Roger smiles at him. "I'll go make some."

All in all, I think, the situation could have turned out a lot worse.


	6. The Questions We Feel Bound To Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rather short and very dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains references to Grimm, and mention of Stargate. If you don’t know what those are I highly recommend them.

While Roger calls the police and stays with John, I phone Freddie and inform him of the night's events. He's obviously shocked at the attempt on my life, and as clueless as myself as to its motive.

"I'm just glad you and John are both safe. Hopefully the police will figure out what on earth that man wanted, or at least protect you from any further attacks."

"Yeah." I share the attacker's words, and my suspicions, although I doubt he'll have any more insight into them than me. His response is immediate, and strong.

"Someone caused the crash? If I ever meet them..."

"My feelings exactly. The thought that there are people in this world who'd risk killing children for... any reason really, that's not something I want to think too hard about while I value my optimism."

A knock on the door forces me to cut the conversation short. "I think the police are here. We'll have to finish this later."

I open the door, and we spend the next hour or so explaining the situation to the police.

The officer in charge, Sergeant Wu, seems to believe our story. A forensic team investigates the ground outside my window, presumably looking for traces of the invasion. I relive every detail of the incident to the detectives, but they don't seem to have any more ideas than us.

"You're sure your parents had no enemies that you know of? Nobody who'd want to hurt them or you?"

"My parents," I say with as much patience as possible, "were an astrophysicist and an electrical engineer. I don't think anybody ever had anything against them. They never seemed scared or nervous of anything, definitely not on the day of the crash. Is there anything else you need to know?"

The detective talking to me - Burkhardt, I think his name is - moves on to speak with Roger, and I take a few minutes to relax and keep John company.

He seems to have recovered a lot since the terror of the night, but we deemed it safest for him to stay in my bed for now. Just in case. I sit down next to him, thinking about the madness of the situation we're in. Every time I thought the worst was over, another thing comes to mess our lives up. I know better than to say it can't get any worse from here. Outside, I hear Detective Burkhardt wrapping up his conversation with Roger and leaving. He says they'll leave someone keeping watch outside, just in case, and someone at the hospital where Freddie is. 

I come out to thank the police team for trying to help us, and after seeing them off I decide to put a film on so we can rest together and take our minds off everything. It's a good thing Mum and Dad agreed to put a television in my room last year. I choose Stargate, a science-fiction film with some good action, nerdy bits, and comic relief.

Some time in, around when the exploring team leaves for the alien planet, I notice John seeming uncomfortable. I glance at him in concern, but he shakes his head and smiles. A quick exchange of looks with Roger, and we come to the conclusion that we can't leave it there. I pause the film, and ask John if he's okay.

"I'm all right." He insists. "At least, as all right as expected for someone who got stabbed last night."

"Are you sure?" Roger asks. "You don't look too good."

"It's nothing."

I don't know how to proceed; clearly the situation is worse than he's letting on, but without his cooperation neither of us can know what's wrong. And then, the answer is decided for me. John gasps in pain, falling back onto the bed. I rush to him.

"What is it? I thought the injury was healing well?"

Roger examines the injury again, looking puzzled. "It seems to be healing fine..."

John's condition seems to be worsening rapidly, spasms of pain wracking his body as I futilely try to hold him, to protect him. Roger takes his phone out and starts dialling an emergency number.

"My fault..." he mutters bitterly as he waits for an answer. "I should have suspected this, I should have known that I couldn't trust myself to treat it alone..."

"Suspected what?" I ask breathlessly, gathering John closer into my arms as he gazes at me in obvious agony, unable to speak.

Roger turns to me for a moment, answering in two brief sentences before the emergency operator finally answers. "The knife must have been poisoned. And I should have guessed."

I gasp as the implication sinks in. "There's got to be something we can do- who knows when help will come- your first-aid kit, something!"

Roger shakes his head, talking quickly and urgently into the phone. John clutches my arm, his pain seeming to subside for a moment. He guesses what I'm thinking: this is my fault if it's anyone's. He was hurt protecting me.

"It wasn't - your fault - either of you - his fault-" He falls back, the effort increasing his distress. I don't have medical training, but I can see the panicked gasps of his breathing, and when I tentatively check his pulse I find it racing madly. We don't have much time.

"Come on..." I say, my voice threatening to shatter. "I can't live without you!"

"You'll have to..." John's voice is hardly audible. "Or I'll die for nothing..."

"You won't die." Roger speaks firmly and almost calmly, but I can hear the tension in his voice too. "I won't let it happen, if I have to personally drag you away from death. Okay?"

No response comes; John lies weakly against me, his convulsions giving way to a stillness far more terrifying. Roger feels for his pulse with a trembling hand.

"He's alive... But if they don't come soon... Or maybe it's too late already-" He stops, clearly horrified at having allowed himself to say so. "No, it's not too late. It can't be."

A sound at the door sends Roger sprinting away, and leaves me and John alone for a few seconds. The past two weeks have been an almost unending nightmare. And is this how it will end, with the worst nightmare of them all? My baby brother dying in my arms?

I hardly notice Roger running back with a group of paramedics, hardly respond as someone takes John from my arms and runs from the room. Almost in a daze, I follow them outside to an ambulance. As John is lifted into it, he suddenly stirs and reaches out for me.

"Don't leave me... I don't want to die alone..."

"You won't," I try to say, although my words are hardly recognisable. "Die, or be alone." As soon as the ambulance leaves, I collapse onto my bed and burst into tears.


	7. Please Don't Go, Don't Leave Me Here All By Myself

“Do

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

Roger's voice floats into my room, in a playful tone that can't hide the concern behind it. I ignore the singing, continuing to stare at the ceiling - or, rather, at the bottom of Freddie's bunk.

"Or ride our bikes around the haaaall? Or ride them where you like? Or whatever you want to do, just come out already! It's snowing outside, Brian!"

I shift my gaze to a nearby wall, where a picture Freddie drew six years ago hangs in pride of place. It shows the four of us sitting in an ice-cream shop, smiling and laughing over the large cones. I remember that day, and how John thought the Oreo ice-cream was cheese-toast flavoured. John... I turn away. There doesn't seem to be a way to take my mind off him. Roger's trying again, knocking on the door half-halfheartedly.

"Can you just... let me in? Please? You don't have to look at me, you don't have to say anything, but please stop locking me out like this! I'm worried about you!"

"About me?" I mutter sarcastically, not caring if he hears. "Not about our little brother, who's lying in hospital miles away, who could be _dying_ at this very moment?"

"Well, at least you're talking now." Roger's casual joking manner grates on my nerves unbearably. "I tried to tell you, he'll be fine. They said he's in a coma, but stable, and they just have to figure out what it was that man used so they can give him an antidote, and I'm sure it won't take too long, these people are trained to deal with situations like this, and please, please, please, at the very least eat something! Did you even sleep last night?"

I didn't, of course. Every time I close my eyes I can see John lying listless in my arms, feel that crushing despair and helplessness. I can remember everything down to the way his hair brushed against my arm when the paramedics finally took him from me, and the sound of the ambulance driving away with all my hopes and fears following it. Keeping my eyes open doesn't help very much, but it makes the vision less vivid. I feel the wet saltiness of tears against my face, but that's not a memory. It's a sign of how I spent that long night, when I didn't dare to sleep for fear of the dreams that would come. The thought brings my Shakespearean education to mind...

"For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil?"

I can't answer that, of course - that was Shakespeare's point in the soliloquy. But, somewhere beyond my capacity to imagine, my parents are probably discovering the answer. And, maybe not too long after, my brother...

"No!" I don't realise that I've spoken the end of my thought sequence aloud, and my sudden exclamation startles Roger outside the door.

"What is it?" He asks worriedly, but I don't answer. Maybe he'll give up... Eventually... But for now, his impressive stubbornness and dedication are showing themselves. The knocking comes louder.

"If you're not talking, can you at least slip a message under the door or something? So I know you're alive?"

A moment later, a sheet of paper and a pencil roll through the gap under the door. The paper bears a message, in Roger's handwriting:

_I miss you :(_

_Please write something, or draw something, you know what? Tear it up if you want to, but give me something to show you're not doing anything crazy or stupid in there. Although the crazy and stupid things are usually my job. Okay?_

I pull myself out of bed, and scribble roughly and quickly. My handwriting is iffy at the best of times, especially with my left hand, and my current haste and distraction make it worse, but I hardly care if he reads it or not.

_Stop it. Not helping._

And then, moved by some impulse I regret almost the moment I slide the note back, I add five more words.

_And it_ _ was _ _your fault._

I hear the message being picked up on the other side of the door, and then I hear - or, rather, don't hear - the silence as Roger reads it. A slight sound - the beginnings of a sob, maybe? - and I hear him walking away slowly.

I shouldn't have done that. Do I really blame him? Honestly? Maybe he could have handled it better. Maybe he should have called in a professional right away, and not trusted to his own comparatively minor knowledge. But who would have thought the knife would be poisoned? It still sounds like something from an overenthusiastic spy drama. And I didn't think of it either, so if he's to blame for mishandling the situation I'm just as much to blame for not realising it was being mishandled...

I slump back into bed, with the added guilt of having lashed out, in my fear and grief, at the only person who was there to help me. Somehow, I end up falling asleep.

* * *

The sound of my ringing telephone wakes me, and I glance at the screen to see that the caller is Freddie. While debating whether to answer, I realise how quiet the house is. I can't hear any music or television playing, and there's no sign of the usual good-natured tumult the others always create. Roger seems to have finally given up his attempts at getting me to come out, which I should be glad of, but somehow the silence only seems ominous. I feel alone in the house, alone in the world. And I have yet another reason to feel bad with myself.

The phone continues to ring, and I eventually decide to pick it up. Freddie's voice comes loudly and clearly from the speaker.

"Hi, Brian! Roger told me about what happened, and that you were very upset about it, so I thought I'd call and make sure you're okay. He said you won't answer him."

I sit in silence, listening while making no commitment to answer. Just hearing my older brother's voice, knowing that I'm not the only person in the world these responsibilities rest on, is somewhat comforting. He continues.

"Look, I'm sure John's going to pull through this. He's stronger than he looks, and he's got three brothers to look after him. But you won't help him by hurting yourself."

 _No,_ I think, I probably won't. _And..._ The thought is bitter as I remember what I did, but somehow not in a bad way... _Definitely not by hurting other people._

"I need to apologise." I say out loud.

"What for?" Freddie, of course, doesn't understand what I'm talking about. "You know it wasn't your fault."

"Maybe it wasn't," I agree. "But there's something else that is. I'll talk to you later, okay?" I hang up without waiting for an answer, unlock the door for the first time since the dreadful events of the previous morning, and head towards Roger's room.

* * *

I knock, but no answer comes. Tentatively, I open the door. It's not locked, luckily. Roger sits on his bed, staring darkly at a scrap of paper in his hand. I don't need to wonder what it is. He looks up as I walk in, then turns back to his contemplation. I come closer, not sure how to begin.

"Hey." I sit down next to him, trying to start gently. He pointedly looks away.

"Don't. Just don't. I never would have believed it of you." Roger speaks harshly, but his voice is clearly on the verge of breaking.

How could I have been so... Cruel doesn't even begin to cover it. I know what I have to say, but I don't know if I have the strength to say it. Funny how sorry seems to be the hardest word. I take a deep breath.

"Roger..." I start again. "I'm sorry. Really. I was a complete idiot, and even you can't disagree this time. I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I forgot I wasn't the only one who has it rough right now. I know you care about John just as much as I do, and you still put your own troubles aside to try and help me... And I threw it back in your face, didn't I? I wouldn't blame you if you never want to see me again at this moment... but I know that I deserve your fury. And if you want to yell at me, or insult me, or whatever, then I probably deserve that too."

There's silence again, for a long time. Finally, Roger crumples up the paper and throws it into a trash can. "No," he says thickly. "You were right. It was my fault, and I should accept that. Accept that my brother could die because of my arrogance and stupidity. It won't help very much, but I can't be in denial about it any longer. I guess I should thank you."

This is not how I'd hoped this conversation would go. With every second that passes I regret what I did more. I can't think of anything to say. But I can't leave him like this, when it's my fault he blames himself in the first place. And it wasn't his fault. It wasn't-

"It wasn't your fault, okay?" I say rather louder than I intended. "Not any more than it's my fault, or John's fault. The only person to blame is that monster who did it to him. That's what John was trying to say yesterday. Blaming ourselves, and each other, will get us nowhere. If we want to do something for John right now, the best thing we can do is to track down the man who attacked him. And get him in prison, for a very long time."

I'm almost making it up as I go along, but the idea does sound reasonable. After all, who says he won't attack again? Roger also seems to realise the sense in the proposal. To my surprise, he smiles slightly.

"You know, you're probably right about that too? If I can't help John with my medical knowledge, I can at least make sure that the (I'll omit the word he uses in the interests of politeness) who put him in this position gets punished for it. And doesn't hurt anyone else."

"See? _That's_ my brother talking." I say firmly. "The brother who'd go to any lengths for the people he cares about, the brother who always manages to see things the way they really are. And, right now, you're the brother to whom I really, sincerely, from the depths of my heart, apologise for having hurt you. If you'll accept my apology, that is. I understand if you don't."  
Roger's smile widens. "Consider it accepted. And I could do this long speech about how much you mean to me and everything, but I have a feeling you already know it."

I laugh, and the tension seems to have vanished almost without our noticing. It feels good, to know that we can count on each other again. To know that, no matter what happens to John and the intruder, Roger will always be here for me - and that I will always be there for him. Right until the ends of the earth.

Roger's phone rings, breaking the moment. It's the hospital, and he puts it on speakerphone. "John Queen's brother?" The caller asks. "You should probably come over as soon as you can. I won't waste time by saying why."

Before we can react, he's hung up. We look at each other, sharing the same realisation: there's only one reason why the hospital would call us like that. And I can hardly think straight as I rush for the door.

"Which bus will get us there the quickest?" Roger shouts, although there's no need. I have to waste precious seconds looking up the answer before we're on our way.

* * *

We dash inside the hospital, and are quickly pointed to the room John is in. The doctor in charge, Dr. Silverton, is bending anxiously over his bed.

John looks pale and so, so delicate, the flutter of his breath hardly visible from the distance we're at. For a moment, the dreadful thought crosses my mind that we're already too late. Dr. Silverton notices our entrance, and turns to us.

"You're the brothers, right? I imagine you'll want to know the situation."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Roger just stares at him tensely, as if trying to control his words with sheer force of will.

"Well..." He begins. "We've managed to isolate the poison. There's no antidote that we know of" - I try to keep back a gasp - "but we're doing everything we can to help his body fight it. He's stronger than we thought, and there could be a chance if he lasts long enough. If he's going to die," he seems oblivious to the effect on us of the way he can speak about a child's life so casually, "it will be in the next few hours. If he makes it through the day he should be out of danger, although with this type of toxin it's hard to tell. Do you understand?"

I nod again. The situation isn't quite as awful as I'd thought when we got the call. Still, the knowledge that the next few hours will decide whether my brother lives or dies... that's not an easy thing to know. I sit down. It's going to be a long night.


	8. Doctor's On Strike, What You Need Is A Rest

The day seems to drag on forever. My entire attention is focused on my little brother and the various doctors and nurses who constantly cluster around him and only rarely bother to give us updates. If not for Roger's insistence, I wouldn't have eaten anything.

I don't know what time it is, but it feels like a lot longer than a few hours. At one point, the doctors all leave, letting us be alone for some time. I approach the bed, choosing my words carefully.

"So... I know you probably can't hear me. I wish there was something I could do, some way I could stop all this. But right now it feels like the only way I can help is by being here. And I know that whatever is happening to you, you can get through it. You'll defy the laws of nature if necessary, but you'll come out alive. Because I can't bear for anything else to happen. And I meant it when I said I couldn't live without you, but you know that already. You're incredibly brave, and intelligent, and kind, and probably a better person than me. Just hold on, okay? For all of us."

Roger comes to stand next to me. He seems hesitant, but speaks with decisiveness.

"It's probably my fault that the situation came to this, at least partially. And I don't often say this, but I'm sorry. Really. If you don't make it, I'll never be able to forgive myself. I'm glad you saved Brian, of course. But I don't want you to have to pay the price for it."

Freddie phones in, and I put him on speakerphone.

"Hey. I wish I could be there with you, but I'm stuck somewhere off in a different ward. It's weird how we're in the same hospital and can't see each other. Look, you're going to be okay. I know that. You're a very special person, and the world is an infinitely better place with you in it. You make other people into better people, whether or not you know it. I'm not trying to be melodramatic here and say the world needs you, but... the world needs you."

There's no response to any of us, not that I should have expected one. For just a moment, I'd allowed myself to hope for a miracle. Instead, the opposite seems to happen. Dr. Silverton comes in, and after checking one of the monitors he starts quickly changing the settings. A nurse rushes in, and receives hurried orders.

"We're losing him. Quick!"

I don't understand half of the frantic activity taking place, but Roger seems to have some idea of what's going on. The look on his face shows me just how serious the situation must be. Only a few snippets of the conversation have any meaning to me.

"Pulse dropping... We need a stronger setting on the ventilator, he's hardly breathing... Pulse is still dropping, I don't know if we can save him..."

I watch, my concern growing. Finally the crisis seems to pass for the moment at least, and the medical staff goes into a hurried consultation.

Dr. Silverton turns to us, looking serious.

"Your brother is on life-support. We can't keep this up forever. If he doesn't manage to recover, and the chances of that are currently extremely low, all we can do is put off the inevitable. I know this is a difficult decision to make, but it might be best for him if you end it now-"

"NO!" Roger shouts, anger suddenly washing over him. "Do you even realise what you're talking about here? This isn't some elderly gentleman who's had a full life and doesn't have too long a future anyway, we're discussing my little brother! Who, may I remind you, is thirteen years old! And, as long as there is any chance of keeping him alive, I'm going to hold onto that chance as hard as I can."

Dr. Silverton doesn't seem affected by Roger's outburst, smiling gently.

"I understand that you're young, and that this isn't an easy position to be in. Of course you want your brother to live. But at most, we can give him a few more hours. He's in a coma, and not likely to wake up soon. As I said, all that can happen is delaying the inevitable for a short time."

"Isn't all life, all medicine, just delaying the inevitable?" I ask. "Why should an inevitable end a few hours in the future matter less than several years? I'm no expert in medicine, but you yourself said that he has a good chance-"

"That was in the past. His condition has significantly worsened since then."

"But you said, even now, there was a chance of recovery. A small one, maybe, but a chance. I can't make a decision like that when there's any other way-"

He cuts me off coldly. "There's no longer another way. Brian, your brother is going to die. Regardless of what I do. The choice you're facing is between ending his pain easily, and prolonging it to no foreseeable benefit. I can't force you to make a decision, but there are other people who need the resources we're devoting to him-"

"You're lying." Neither of us had noticed Roger observing the monitors. "Now, I'm no professional either, but this seems to be on the wrong setting. So either an experienced, trained doctor made a mistake with a basic piece of equipment that you work with on a daily basis, or..."

"Oh, my." I instinctively back away from Dr. Silverton, stepping between him and John's bed. "You're deliberately trying to kill him."

His expression wavers for a moment, but quickly resumes its calmness. "You come to that conclusion because your limited medical knowledge makes you think I made a mistake? What makes you think you know enough to make such a powerful accusation?"

"Oh, there's more." Roger looks at a different monitor. "If anything, his condition seems to be improving. So why did you tell us to give up hope?" He alters the setting on the ventilator, and Dr. Silverton moves past me to try and change it back. Roger stands between him and the device.

"Well," he says finally, "you're clearly not thinking clearly. And you can hardly be trusted to make a life and death decision in that case. So I'm afraid it would fall to me to-"

Roger doesn't move. "If you take him off life-support, I'll sue. It's got to be at least a manslaughter charge."

The doctor's smile changes. "Not if he's already dead at the time."

"You know he isn't. We both know he isn't."

"But the only thing that matters is the medical records. Not your word or mine. And they're surprisingly easy to falsify if you know how."

"So you are trying to kill him." I say, loudly. "In league with the man who attacked us? Or do you have some motive of your own?"

"I really don't see any reason to tell you. This conversation is pointless."

"You just as good as admitted that you want John dead. That's hardly pointless."

"But it is," that smile again. "Because why exactly do you think anyone would believe you?"

I take my hand out of my pocket, revealing my phone set to record.

"They don't have to believe us. You just gave us proof."

The politeness leaves Dr. Silverton's face. "And nobody will ever see it." 

He tries to take the phone from me, but I throw it to Roger. He dashes from the room, leaving me alone with the doctor and John. And possibly the only thing standing between John and death, as all the proof in the world won't be able to bring him back to life should Dr. Silverton try something... My only hope is that he'll realise the hopelessness of his situation and not want to complicate it by facing a murder charge.

Behind me, I hear a faint gasp from John. I don't dare to look, but if he's conscious that alone is a good thing. I raise my voice.

"I don't know what you want. I don't know what you thought you could accomplish by killing my brother. But the only thing you've managed is making both of us despise you - and, when my older brother hears of this, all three of us. If you fulfil your intentions, I won't rest until I see you brought to justice - you and every one of your accomplices. If I were you, I'd stop before incurring that kind of consequences."

He laughs. "And if I'm already going to jail, what does it matter if I do a little more?" 

He lunges at me, and I step back, my only desperate thought the knowledge that I can't fail John again. A faint shriek from behind me proves that he's awake. I only wish he had a better scene to wake up to.

A security team rushes in, pulling Dr. Silverton away from me. Roger helps me up.

"The police are on their way. If he hurt either of you-"

"We're both fine, thanks to you. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn't noticed that setting."

"And if you hadn't managed to get proof, we couldn't have stopped him anyway. Sorry, you'll have to take some credit on this one."

"Fine," I laugh, "if you insist. As long as you admit to your share."

"What... happened?" John's faint whisper comes from behind us, and I run to his side.

"It's all right now. You're safe, and one very bad man won't be able to do any more damage. Do you feel good?"

"Doesn't... hurt much... but I shouldn't be so tired, should I?"

"I'll go find a doctor." Roger says. "Hopefully someone who won't try to kill you this time."

"Wait, what?" John asks in concern, and I can't suppress a smile. Trust Roger to lighten up a dark situation.

"Long story," I say as Roger leaves. "But I'll see how much I can get through before he comes back."

* * *

Quite a lot, as it turns out. I'm just finishing up when Roger comes back with a doctor. John looks more scared than he lets on, but doesn't interrupt. He seems quieter than normal, but it could just be the lingering aftereffects of the injury. While the doctor checks him out, my phone starts ringing. It's Freddie, again. Before I can catch him up, he starts talking quickly.

"Can you go somewhere private? There's been an important development."

"Look, this is really not the best time. But since you're calling, I also have something to tell you about."

"Oh?"

I try to find somewhere as quiet as possible, and quickly recount the latest adventure.

"This is the third time someone's tried to kill us!" Freddie exclaims in shock. "And we still don't have any kind of lead?"

"Well," I say, "at least they caught the guy this time. Maybe the police will be able to get something from him. I hope. I'll admit though, I'm pretty terrified at the moment. If whoever's doing this has doctors on their side, then they're much more powerful than we thought. And we've been lucky so far, but in the end we're a bunch of kids trying to defend ourselves against people who seem to have a lot of power and no moral boundaries. I'll be glad when you come back and take some of the responsibility from me-"

"That's actually connected to what I wanted to tell you. It might not be that simple."

"What do you mean?" I ask, worried by his tone. Why can't anything ever be that simple?

"Well...You know how I applied for custody of you guys to make sure we could stay together?"

"Yeah... You said that was going well?"

"It was. But turns out I'm not the only person interested. I assume you didn't know we had an Aunt Samantha?"

"Samantha?" I don't understand. "I thought our parents were only children... That's who wants custody of us?"

"Apparently, yes. And it's as much a puzzle to me as to you. She claims to be Mum's sister, but I've never seen or heard of her before in my life."

I frown in concentration. "What do you say, family secret or outright lie? If she's lying, then she must have some pretty good fake evidence. And if not... Why didn't we know she existed?"

"I don't know what to think. But you should probably meet her, get your own opinion. Because there's a good chance that, unless we can come up with something really good, an adult woman with a husband will be chosen over a teen who's stuck in hospital for the next month at least, even if I am your brother."

A message from Roger shows up.

_Good conversation? Dr. says he's recovering well, but they'll keep him under observation for a day or so. Also extra precautions to make sure nobody has the opportunity to try something like that again. I hope. Tell Freddie hi for me, and come have lunch or something, okay?_

I smile. "Catch you later, okay?" I say into the phone, and go to, well, "have lunch or something."


	9. That's All I Ever Get From Your Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longest chapter so far, and quite possibly the best. A ton of references.

Over lunch, I inform Roger of the new development. I didn't expect him to have any ideas about it, and I don't seem to be wrong. He looks thoughtful, but doesn't offer any suggestions.

"Her name's Sam? Not that it matters if it isn't, because of course I've never heard of her regardless... But what could anyone gain by pretending to be our family and adopting us? It's not like we have some kind of superpowers or, I don't know, Mum and Dad left a ton of money to whoever looks after us or something like that... Unless, of course, they did and nobody told us... Look, I'm sorry but I really don't have any more suggestions about this than you do. I guess the best course of action would be to go and meet her?"

I agree, but still feel worried for some reason. "Just make sure nothing happens while I'm gone, okay? I'll see what I can do."

* * *

Two days and several long conversations later, Roger, John, and I are sitting in a park together with Samantha and Eric Prentiss, neither of whom I've seen or heard of before in my life.

Samantha does look like she could be related to us. She almost reminds me of Roger, with the style of her blonde hair and the shade of her blue eyes. But I also get the feeling somehow that no two people could be more different on the inside. Her expression is cold, although she tries to hide it with a smile. She hardly gives the impression of someone meeting her possible future children.

Eric looks pretty average, the sort of person my eyes would pass right over if I saw him on the street. He's tall and strongly built, and oddly quiet. As if he's afraid to speak. Sam doesn't seem too willing to open the conversation either, so it's eventually up to me.

"So... Would you, um, mind telling us who you are? I know you're supposedly our aunt and uncle, but I have to admit that I've never heard of any such thing. If this is some kind of scam, then for one thing you're obviously very good at it to have come this far with the legal side of things. For another, I can't possibly see what you'd get out of it. If you're genuine, then please forgive me for the obvious question: Where have you been for the past eighteen years? Or more, as you're not in any of our family photos. And finally, if it's all the same to you, we'd rather be with somebody we already know and trust, who we've known all our lives."

I glance surreptitiously at the others, and they seem to agree that I've covered all the basics. Samantha starts talking, her voice eerily calm and level.

"First of all, you may rest assured that I am indeed Samantha Prentiss. Please call me Sam, though. I'm your mother's sister, and I was shocked to hear of what happened to her. If I'd known all those years ago... But I guess I can't change the past. I won't go into the messy details, but there was a quarrel between your mother and I many years ago that I'm afraid drove us apart irredeemably. As to why I'm interested in you, I suppose I feel it's my duty to try and make up for my share in the rift with my beloved sister by taking care of her sons. I know that you were planning for this to be done by your older brother, but I'm afraid you don't quite understand the full complexity of the situation. Your brother is still hardly more than a child himself, and currently hospitalised for at least the coming month. I don't doubt your good intentions or capability, but after all you can't exactly be expected to take on adult responsibilities at this age, which would be the de facto consequence of your current plans. Besides, surely it would be healthier for your future if you could have as normal a life as possible from now on. Perhaps in a new place as well, free from the memories of the past? I won't press you to change your minds at this time, but I'm sure you'll see reason eventually."

I consider her words. Quite pretty, I guess, but delivered in a flat tone that hardly suits the emotions she appeals to. The points are just the sort of thing that would seem reasonable to someone looking from the outside, but there's just so much she doesn't understand. And besides all that, something about both of them makes me strangely uncomfortable. Surely she can't really be Mum's sister...

"Look, Mrs. Prentiss." I reject 'Sam' for now, it feels too close for comfort. "I appreciate your concerns, but I really do think that we'd be better off as we are. As for having a normal life, I think that bridge has already been burned. Quite honestly, I wouldn't be comfortable suddenly moving in with two people I hardly knew, even if you really are family. And I'm still far from convinced of that. If your intentions are truly for our good, then I suggest that you leave us to our own devices. I'm sorry if that sounds harsh, but I don't want to give you any false hopes. Now, unless you have any more arguments to make, the supermarket nearby closes in half an hour and I was planning to get supplies for dinner."

Maybe I am being rather harsh, but something tells me to keep these two at arm's length. As I rise to go, Sam suddenly snaps back into action.

"I'd hoped we could work this out pleasantly. But I want to do what's best for the three of you, and that might mean doing it in a way that you're not happy with at first. I'm sorry."

Eric speaks for the first time, looking back over his shoulder as he leaves.

"See you later, I hope. Maybe you'll have come around by then."

Why does his voice sound familiar? And why do I almost feel scared by it, as if he was some kind of criminal?

* * *

Back at home, we discuss the meeting over spaghetti. I can't shake the feeling that even agreeing to meet with them was a mistake, the memory of Eric's voice reminding me of something I can't remember but have to. The atmosphere is tense, with everyone clearly still thinking about what we've been through.

John's been particularly quiet since his recent ordeal, hardly speaking and clinging to us almost constantly as though something might happen at any minute. I can't say I blame him - what the four of us have been through in the past couple of weeks is enough to shake anyone. We're all not exactly in the greatest condition. Still, it worries me. He is the youngest of us, after all, and despite what I told Sam I do hope that we can at least try for a normal life. And now, when one of the people trying to hurt us has been caught and any others hopefully won't dare with the police guarding our house, I'm starting to feel like that finally might be possible.

A life where the past is, if definitely not forgotten, at least allowed to take a back seat to the future and the joy of living. A life where we know that, despite everything and everyone's efforts to the contrary, we have each other and will for as long as we care to imagine. Not forever, of course, but - My dark imagination leaps forwards again, despite my attempts at optimism. Thinking of a future, maybe sixty years from now, where I might have to live without Freddie... Or Roger... I try to remind myself how far off that will hopefully be. How many beautiful years we surely still have to look forwards to. Considering our ages, there's probably a good chance that I'll be the first of us to die... Okay. That's not comforting. I'll have to accept the fact that my brief optimistic moment is gone forever.

Pixie calls for my attention from the kitchen counter where she is definitely not supposed to be, releasing me from continuing the dark train of thought. I go to gently remove her, thankful for having remembered not to leave anything fragile within easy reach. I'm still new at this housekeeping business, after all, and despite plenty of experience cooking and cleaning nothing can quite prepare you for being in charge of your own home, with all the responsibility to make sure things are done right and nobody to fix them for you if they're not.

After returning Pixie to a safer place and replenishing her food supply - although if I know her she's probably had more than her share by sneaking some of Delilah's - I turn back towards the dining room, only to see that Roger's followed me. He waves me to sit down, his face wearing the serious expression I'm still getting used to seeing so often. I sigh.

"Look, Rog, we _are_ in the middle of dinner right now. You really want to leave John all by himself and have a deep serious conversation for who knows how long? You're the one who said we should stay together."

Roger nods reluctantly. "I suppose so. I just... saw that you looked worried, I guess, and wanted to make sure everything was okay. Everything _is_ okay, right?"

I start to answer, but I've never been that great at lying.

"You know what? Maybe we should talk. Just after dinner, okay? We've got time."

"All right. But I won't forget and let you get out of it."

"When did I say I wanted to get out of it?" I ask as we head back to the table.

"Get out of what?" John looks at us with interest.

I shrug. "Not that important. What's more important is that you've hardly eaten, and although that's bad at any time it's especially important now because you currently need to get your strength back. Also, I did kind of put a lot of work into making this and it would be kind of a shame to leave it, but that's beside the point."

Roger looks at me in confusion. "How much work does it take to make spaghetti and put tomato sauce on it?"

"There's also salad," I point out. "Although judging by your plate you don't seem to have noticed it."

"Touché. I suppose you want me to change that?"

"It would be appreciated," I admit. "Anyway, you're kind of distracting me from an attempt at serious conversation with John-"

"Oh, right. Sorry." Roger fiddles nervously with his bowl. "Look, um, Brian's right. You need- well, you always need to take care of yourself because we love you and we want you to be healthy. But right now you've just been through an extremely traumatic experience and your body probably used everything it had to prevent you from-" He pauses, looking flustered, before bursting out almost tearfully. "To prevent you from bleeping _dying_ , okay? And you need to make sure that your body now has what it needs to heal from that! And whatever you're probably going through emotionally right now, I know that you can make it through this just like you made it through everything else that's happened. Okay?"

John doesn't seem too affected by the words, but a flicker in his eyes shows that he's taken them in.

"Very dramatic, Dr. Roger. But you're both making too much of a fuss about this. Has it occurred to you that I might, I don't know, not be hungry or something?"

I sigh. "And that shouldn't worry us? At the risk of being repetitive, you're still recovering. You've hardly eaten since we left the hospital. Whatever may be bothering you, this is not the way to deal with it."

"You sound like Freddie. Did he give you speech notes?"

I honestly don't know what to do. I'm not used to John being so... not John-like. I try to muster my forces of reasoning, but this sort of thing is hardly my strong suit. Although, come to think of it, I don't remember it being Roger's either... I only wish that Freddie was back already, because I really, really, need his diplomatic skills here. His way of somehow calming the most tense situation with a well-placed joke or a simple comment that puts the situation into perspective. As for me? I'm... smart? I guess? Roger and John both seem to depend on me for so much now, but how can I take care of other people when my own problems are still so insurmountable? I do my best, of course - it's what I've always done - but in this kind of situation nothing can possibly feel like enough.

I can't bring back Mum and Dad, can I? I can't erase the trauma and upheavals my brothers have had to go through, or fly everyone off to some fairy land where honeybees have lost their stings and everyone just sits around singing forever. I can't even seem to get through to John at the moment, and it hurts almost unbearably to feel that, for the first time, there's a wall between us. I'd do anything to help him, but I don't know if there's anything I _can_ do at this time. But if I don't do something, his situation will probably just get worse. What did he do to deserve this? What did any of us do?

Suddenly, I find I'm not that hungry either. I get up from the table, heading for the room that was Freddie's and mine- as we agreed, for the last couple of days I've been sharing with the other two just to be on the safe side. I glance around, seeing everything that reminds me of what's been lost.

The Red Special, which I hadn't realised how much I missed since my broken arm in the accident forced me to stay away from it. The not so old girl's just been sitting there for two weeks, waiting for me to come back. For a moment, I get carried away, imagining the sleek guitar as a sentient being. Does she miss me? Does she know why I'm not playing her, or is she just sitting there, for all she knows abandoned forever?

The various drawings on the walls, reminding me that the person I most need right now still isn't back. It must be so lonely in the hospital with only machines and doctors, speaking to us only on the phone... But he's also lucky, in a way. He doesn't have to even take care of himself right now, let alone all of us.

The disorder in the room, a mess still left by my fight for my life with the strange assassin. The assassin... A thought floats around in connection with him, something that feels incredibly important. But I can't figure out what it means.

Next to the Red Lady, John's amp. It seems a throwback from a simpler time, when we took our connection and relationship for granted. When it was obvious that we would complement each other's skills, working in unison to create something bigger and better than any of us.

And then my eye finds the centerpiece. The family crest. All four of us, grouped around the letter that symbolises who we are. Defending our identity, our bond, and each other. A team, each with his own abilities and strengths that nobody else could use half as well. So very different from each other, but sharing so many things as well.

Love, for each other and for life. Passion, about the things that interest us and that we hope to devote our lives to. Creativity, in areas as diverse as music, engineering, and visual art. A somewhat childish sense of humour at times - yes, even I can be guilty of that when I get too relaxed. Stubbornness, never backing down from the things that really matter. And, maybe most importantly, a willingness to do everything we can whether or not we succeed in what we do. Because it's the right thing, or because we're excited about it, or just because we enjoy the challenge. Even when Freddie's not here, the mere sight of his work and knowledge of his philosophy has me somewhat comforted. I can almost imagine him standing next to me, and know what he'd say.

_Don't be so dramatic, darling. I know you can do it, and you've never let me down yet._

I find myself smiling as lyrics suggest themselves to my mind.

"So still the cloud it hangs over us and we're alone...  
"But some day, one day...  
"We'll come home..."

Some day, one day. If I can hold on that long, and if they can. But giving up? I can't lie and say it's not an option. But I _will_ try to stay as far from it as possible. A tentative knock reminds me that I'm not the only person in the house.

"Come on in," I say, still looking at the picture.

Roger walks in, taking a seat casually by Freddie's drawing table. I look at him thoughtfully, not sure what to expect.

"Glad to see you didn't lock me out this time. Don't ever treat me like that again, okay? It really wasn't the best move, and I'm speaking as someone known for making bad decisions under stress. And this is a horrible way to start a conversation, isn't it? You did say you wanted to talk, and I'm working under that assumption. Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No, no." I hasten to reassure him. "It's good that you're here. How's John?"

Roger sighs. "He got really worried after you left. Wanted to run over immediately and apologise, but I thought you needed some time alone. I hope I made the right call. I also thought that he needs some time alone, so he's currently in our room listening to his favourite relaxation music."

"That's good," I say approvingly. "So, um... This conversation?"

"You're scared," he begins. Strong, but he's right of course. I nod sadly.

"I can't remember what it's like not to be. Was it really two weeks ago that we were just ordinary kids going on holiday? With a family, and a routine, and a more or less ordinary life? Right now, I wonder if that reality ever existed. Maybe it's always been this way, and we're just imagining a better past to give ourselves some hope."

"Deep," Roger admits. "Philosophical, even. But pretty certainly false."

"Oh?" I subconsciously find myself rising to the challenge of philosophical debate.

"While our memories could be misleading us, it's unlikely we would share exactly the same delusion. Add to that the memories of basically every person who's known or been involved with us, and the physical evidence, and the probability would plummet to... What's the reverse of astronomical? Terrestrial? The probability would plummet to terrestrial levels. How am I doing?"

I'm possibly more amused than I should be by the joke he slipped in at the end, but the reasoning is surprisingly sound.

"I should debate you more often."

"Because I'm good at it, or so that you can crush me with superior intellectual power more often?"

To my surprise, I'm actually laughing now. "Which do you think?"

"Am I a telepath now, then?"

"Okay, fine." I surrender. "I can't really see a flaw in your reasoning, and consider yourself complimented. All right?"

Roger smiles. "Coming from the notorious perfectionist, that's pretty serious. Shall we continue the serious aspect, or do you need some more cheering up?"

I shrug noncommittally. "I'd love to say the latter, but there are a couple of serious topics I think we need to cover. If you're up for that, of course-"

"If I wasn't up for it, I wouldn't be here." Roger's expression becomes more earnest, but some of the playfulness lingers in his eyes. "Look... I know I can be difficult to get along with sometimes. I'm immature, childish, short-tempered, and two of those words mean the same thing so I guess I can also be pretty stupid. And I'm not always the best person, or the best brother. But I do really like you, and I want you to be happy and safe. Always. That means, if there's anything I can ever do for you, any way for me to help you, I'll try to be there. I don't know if I'll always be able to help, and maybe I'll get really unlucky sometimes and mess things up even more, but I would never willingly abandon you when you need me. So, um, the point of this long and winding speech is basically, whatever you want to talk about just go ahead and I'll listen. If you just need it out, whatever it is, then I'm down with that. If, for some incomprehensible reason, you want my advice, then I'm down with that too. If there's something else you need from me, then you're pretty smart and I guess you've probably seen the pattern by now. But I've probably talked long enough. It's your turn."

I try to bring my thoughts back together. "Right. I guess I'll start with the less pressing thing and build up. First off, John mentioned yesterday that we really haven't been thinking very much about finances, and he's right. There might be some kind of legal provision for us, but I think I'd feel most secure if I got a job. This would obviously be a big step, so I thought that for one thing, I should let you know of course, and for another, I wondered if you had any suggestions as to what it could be."

Roger considers. "Join a band? Start a band? You're pretty brilliant on that guitar, and I'm sure many other people would agree."

"Really? You think people would pay to watch a seventeen-year-old guitarist? I'm hardly a child prodigy."

"I'd disagree, but you've had nearly ten years of practice. I don't see why you can't be as good as anyone, if not better. Besides, there's nothing to lose by trying. Getting your name out there."

I laugh, amused by the idea but also finding a certain charm in the thought of going out and performing.

"If I'm starting a band, the rest of you should join in. I know Freddie can sing, and you learned to play the drums a few years back. Is that still a thing?"

"I'd nearly forgotten," Roger laughs, "but it's definitely an idea. John's not bad at the guitar, either. If we need a bassist..."

"When'd he learn?" I ask in surprise. "I showed him some basic stuff now and then, but I don't remember any kind of formal training-"

"Sneaking into your room when you were doing those university-level physics courses, borrowing your guitar, and watching online training videos. He asked me not to tell you because he wanted to surprise everyone, but to the best of my knowledge he really is quite good. Come to think of it, we could start a band just the four of us. If you're seriously interested, of course. And if the others are. I know, it sounds crazy."

"I love it," I respond excitedly. I can see everything in my imagination, crowds and speakers and lighting and glamorous outfits. Might be just a dream, but right now it seems surprisingly achievable.

"It could work, could be a flop..."

" _I love it, Rog._ "

"Okay, then! Are we settled?"

"We appear to be. I just hope I can get everyone else on board. Freddie's a natural performer, of course - we've all seen him in school plays - but I'm not sure John's quite the rockstar type."

"Oh, I'm sure Freddie can convince him," Roger says confidently. "Now, what about the other thing we needed to talk about?"

"Oh, yes. That." I'd almost forgotten in my excitement. "It's, um, about John. I'm sure you've noticed how much all this is getting to him, and I'm honestly very worried. I don't know how to help him, but we can't let him just... close up and fall apart without trying to do something."  
"Brian... I'm sure he'll be fine. We'll find a way. You're a genius, after all, and I'm not bad at making people laugh if I say so myself."

I'm somewhat comforted by Roger's optimism, but the problem seems much more serious than anything I've dealt with before. It can't be solved with heroics, or brains, or spur-of-the-moment hugs. We need to go about this carefully, before it's too late. And...

"He's too young for this." I finally say.

"We all are, when it comes to that. We're a bunch of kids dealing with stuff no child should ever have to go through, and we've actually handled it surprisingly well so far. But it does seem awfully cruel, seeing what it's done to us. It's not only John who's been affected, I know. I've seen what you tried to hide when you didn't want me to worry. I'm also..." He pauses nervously. "It's gotten to me as well. I'm having moments, doubts. At first I thought it would be easier having someone to blame, but it just feels worse. To think that someone would wilfully do this to us, knowing that if we survived we'd be physically and mentally scarred for life - and that they'd try again, after we did survive - the fact that there's so much evil in the world, and that it's after us for some unknown reason, terrifies me. It's good to think that I have you, at least."

"Me?" I don't understand. "I'm hardly anything special. I can't even protect myself."

"Seriously? You've got to be joking. You're a hero, and that's not an exaggeration. When you saved John, in the crash... You knowingly risked your life just to have a chance at protecting him, while I froze and screamed as if I were the only person there. If I'd had your courage, things might have gone differently. We might have had Freddie here, with us, instead of away in hospital where we hardly get to speak. Everything could have been easier."

I smile sadly. "I'm not a hero, Rog. I was acting on instinct. Not making a conscious decision to risk anything or protect anyone-" And thinking about that day brings another thought, one that I hardly even dare admit to myself. Sometimes, I wish I hadn't survived.

"That just makes you even more of a hero! The fact that your instinct was to do the right thing, without even having to think about it- I wish I had that kind of soul."

"I didn't know you had any kind of soul," I offer.

"Never said I did. Seriously though, I trust you. And I'm not just saying that to encourage you. You're a special person, as special as any of us. If anyone can help John right now, it's you. Although I do have an idea that could help."

"You do?" I ask in sudden interest. "What is it?"

"Well... You know the theater around the corner? The one that's incredibly expensive and all the big acts perform in?"

"Yeah? I really don't think we can afford to go there for any cause, although I'd definitely love it."

"Oh, but we can!" Roger's face takes on the old scheming expression. "I managed to find a discount on tickets for tomorrow night's performance of The Magic Flute. It could be just the thing to cheer everyone up."

"Are you serious? That sounds brilliant! Unbelievable, but brilliant."

"Oh," Roger smiles, "absolutely. Tomorrow, we're spending a night at the opera."


	10. Through The Madness, Through The Tears

The next morning, we get up early. The show isn't until eight p.m., but that's no reason to risk anything. Besides, we have a lot of things to do. First off, convincing Roger that you don't bring popcorn to a Mozart opera. In more serious matters, the police want to meet with us and discuss the recent developments. Sergeant Wu arrives at nine, and we rather nervously prepare for the conversation.

"Silverton is refusing to name his motive or accomplices. Brian, you're sure he wasn't the same man who attacked you?"

"Yeah," I confirm. "That man was bigger, had a higher voice, and from what I could see he was also lighter-skinned. I'm sorry, I know it's not much of a description, but there were rather more important things to focus on at the time."

"I quite understand," Wu says. "And you're convinced that the same people who tried to kill you and your brother also caused the car crash that killed your parents?"

"Well," I begin, "I don't have any hard evidence, bur what the intruder said would seem to lead to that conclusion. Do you have any information on the other car invol- Oh, sorry. I forgot asking the questions is your job."

Wu shrugs. "I can't brief you on all the details, but you do deserve to know something. The driver fled the scene before we could get there, but we got a description of a blonde woman in her mid-thirties. The car belonged to a rental agency in Kensington, but they couldn't find records of anyone renting it at the time. We assume it was stolen."

The description is pretty generic, but my brain automatically stores it for future reference. Something tells me it's not as useless as it seems.

"And you ignored this?" Roger breaks in forcefully. "You ignored the evidence that the crash was intentional? If you'd acted more quickly, or at least warned us... put a guard on the house... the attack would never have happened! More than a week passed between them, you must have had at least some knowledge of the truth by then. Why didn't you do something?"

"Honestly? We thought you had enough to deal with without processing your parents having been murdered. We didn't have enough evidence to make any progress towards finding the culprit - in fact, we still don't - and we couldn't have foreseen that they'd try to get rid of you. For all we knew, they were only interested in killing your parents. I've seen a lot of pretty scary criminals in my time, but few who would murder children with no discernable motive. I'm sorry for the attempt on your lives, but luckily your resourcefulness and initiative prevented any permanent harm-"

"Permanent harm?" Roger lowers his tone, but speaks with perhaps the most emotion I've ever heard from him. "I watched my brother almost die. I was convinced it was my fault. All of us were scared and traumatised, and I don't know if that will ever go away. Do you think that because we weren't physically hurt all of that will just vanish? I'm studying medicine, and I'd much rather have almost any kind of injury or illness than some of the psychological effects these things leave. At least that heals in time."

"Rog-" I try to cut in gently. "You're talking to a police officer. I understand how you feel, but you might want to tone it down a bit."

Telling Roger to tone it down hardly ever works, but I figure it's worth a try. To my surprise, Wu smiles.

"It's all right. I completely understand your reaction. You have every right to be angry, and I can't pretend that we weren't at least partially to blame. It's probably fair to say that mistakes were made on all sides, and I promise to share all information with you in future. For now, my team and I will continue investigating and hopefully have something concrete before too long. Oh, and have fun tonight. We'll put a surreptitious escort on you just in case something happens, all right?"  
"Thanks." Wu leaves, and I turn to the next item on the day's agenda: our medical checkups.

It doesn't take long, and Dr. Parrish says my arm is healing faster than expected. With any luck, I could be playing again in little over a month. Roger checks out fine except for the usual eyesight - why he doesn't wear glasses is forever a mystery to me - and John, while still weak, is making a full recovery after that terrible night. Since we're already at the hospital, we decide to visit Freddie in person rather than by video call.

He's looking better than the last time we spoke, and smiles playfully as we come in.

"Lovely to see you all again. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me and were off having fun by yourselves."

I can't help a smirk. "It's good to see you too, Fred. Although the past few days haven't exactly been _fun_ for any of us. How are you?"

"Not too bad, considering." He waves in the direction of the monitors and devices connected to the bed. "Getting used to being stuck here, I think. I've even started writing poetry to pass the time, so you might be seeing some competition soon. It's more cheerful than your stuff, at any rate. Well, most of it is. How about you guys? Fully recovered, I hope? I can't say I wasn't terrified by what happened a few days ago. Feels like the moment we finish with one disaster, something worse has to come along."

"It does, doesn't it?" I agree. "At least the police seem to be taking us seriously now. If it wasn't for Murphy's Law and these mysterious Prentisses, I'd almost say things are finally getting better. I'm still worried, though. Even when everything seems safe... They still haven't caught the man who attacked me and John. Someone out there wants to hurt the people I love, and they've already succeeded at least in part. And until whoever it is can be brought to justice, I don't think I'll ever be able to really feel safe. Even police officers are human, and one mistake, one betrayal..."

"They won't win," Freddie says calmly.

"How can you be so sure?" John asks, his gentle eyes looking to Freddie in complete trust tempered by lingering apprehension.

"It's simple. Whatever the ultimate motive of our enemies is, they've made it pretty clear they want to kill us. We, on the other hand, obviously don't want to be killed. Their goal is death, and we're fighting to live. And in the end, I'm certain, life will always have the upper hand."

* * *

We spend the afternoon relaxing and making plans. It occurs to me that we'll probably have to go back to school eventually, although I suppose I personally don't have all that much school left. The schools and authorities have been lenient because of our situation, but that won't last forever. It'll be strange, going back to hanging out with ordinary teenagers and worrying about tests and whether we packed enough for lunch. It's only when you have to do everything yourself that you realise just how much there is to _do_. How did Mum and Dad ever handle it all?

John seems to be looking forwards to the evening, although he's still hardly his old carefree self - when it comes to that, I doubt he ever will be. All in all, though, it's good to see his heightened spirits. Pixie also seems to be in a good mood, running through the house with Delilah and making us exhaust ourselves keeping her out of trouble. It's uncanny really how animals seem to pick up the emotions of their human friends.

Roger and I discuss the physics of a sci-fi series he's in the middle of reading, and come to the conclusion that while the plot and characterisation is brilliant, none of their scientists are going to be seeing a Nobel prize anytime soon. Time passes surprisingly quickly, and I don't think any relativistic dilation is involved in this case.

And so, after more time than it appears, we prepare to leave.

Pixie wants to follow us, but I'm forced to gently but firmly dissuade her. I grab my wallet and various minor but important things, pull on my clogs, and head to the door. Roger's voice floats over in a tone of annoyance:

"I've lost my shoe!"

"Cinderella," John quips, and I giggle, amused but also relieved to see his sense of humour making itself known again.

We leave for the theater in plenty of time, although there's not really any need seeing how close it is. I could almost imagine that we're going on a family night out just like before the crash, if it weren't for the absence of Freddie and our parents. We'll never truly be able to forget that, will we? Never be able to have a truly normal life. I still think this night was a good idea, but maybe I underestimated just how much damage can never be erased by any amount of acting normally, or treating ourselves, or...

Roger nudges me surreptitiously. "Hey. You're thinking again. What happened to just relaxing for once?"

"You're right," I answer. "Sorry. Just... this isn't going to work, is it?"

"What do you mean? It doesn't have to 'work'. We're just spending the night out, aren't we? The whole point is not to worry too much about the details."

"Yes, well, that's the part that's not working." I lower my voice, noticing John's interest in the conversation. "Too much has happened for us 'just to spend the night out'. Too much has happened for us not to worry. We can't just walk into the theater and watch an opera and go home and sleep as though nothing ever happened that day and we're still a family like all the others there, and I don't know why I thought we could."

"Brian, we don't need to be. Of course we can't fix this entire crazy life in one night, but we can try to make a small difference. At least for tonight, we won't be the orphaned kids, or the kids someone's out to get, or the kids who almost died in a car crash. I mean, we will. You're right that we can't erase it. But we can try to put it in the background. Just for tonight, okay? I don't think anything disastrous will happen because we decide to relax a bit for once. And besides, it's opera! Who doesn't like opera?"

"You have a point," I concede. "At least, that last bit. I can't say no to opera."

John draws closer to us, with the expression that I've learned to recognise as a precursor to ideas. Realisation strikes me that that's another thing I've missed without knowing it, his enthusiasm and sparks of genius. Maybe Roger's on the right track, and this evening is what he needs to start reacclimating to normal life, or maybe it's something else. I don't know, but it definitely feels good to see, especially knowing everything the crash did to him and everything he's gone through since. I smile in anticipation of whatever it is he's thought of.

He takes a place between me and Roger as we walk, gently taking both our hands; the action seems in this case to be born more of affection than the fear haunting him for the last two weeks. I slow down, letting the words come at their own pace. We have plenty of time, and just opening up of his own accord is a good sign.

"Remember that musical Roger used to be obsessed with? Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?"

I smile as my memory asserts itself. "The one with the car, right?"

John gives me a look of agreement. "Yes, the one with the car. I was thinking about... well, a lot of things, really. And I remembered this song from it. What was the verse?  
'Could be we three  
Get along so famously  
Cause you two have me'-"

Roger completes the line. " 'And I have you two, too'? I can see why you thought of it. There's something inherently comforting in the idea of having people close to you who are ready to protect you at any cost, and know you'd do the same for them. Admittedly, a children's story about a father raising two motherless children might not have all that much to do with our current situation, but you're right. We'd never have gotten this far if we hadn't had each other to rely on. And I hope that you feel you can rely on us, because I personally will do everything I can to make that the case."

John actually smiles, if with a much more subdued version of his signature glow.

"I do. Since that... Since that _thing_ happened, I've been different, I guess. Quiet, messed up, kind of useless-"

"First of all," I interject, "you're not useless. You saved my life, remember? Second of all, with what we've been through, it wouldn't surprise me if you were in much worse condition. You shouldn't blame yourself for being upset. If anything, you should congratulate yourself for having been as strong as you are."

"Maybe. But you're stronger. Through everything that's happened, all the danger and pain and fear, you focused on protecting me and doing what needed to be done, even when you were hurting just as much as any of us or more. You didn't go off and cry or act like an idiot and make everyone worried..."

"Oh, I did," I assure him. "You just weren't there."

"That's my point, though. You were there for me every time, but I was never there for you. In this situation, I need to give as much as I can just like you are."

"But you don't," I insist. "You need to be there for yourself, as well. And you-" my voice wavers even now, thinking about that awful day - "you almost died being there for me. I don't want you to give any more than that. No matter where the future goes and what else life decides to throw at us, you'll always be my baby brother, and one of the kindest and most loving people in the universe. You don't have to prove it to anyone, or push yourself farther than you can handle trying to. I don't want you to, either. I love you, all right? No amount of attacks and crises can ever change that. Or maybe that's not quite accurate - they can make it even stronger."

John nods slowly, faint tears showing in his eyes as he looks up towards me and Roger.

"I'm scared. I said that when we first came back, and it's even more the case now. I'm scared for you, for Freddie, for myself. But in another sense, I'm not scared at all. Because I have people on my side who'd do anything to protect me, and I'd never hesitate to do the same for them. I don't think anyone has a chance against that, however powerful they might be."

And then, in the middle of the pavement with everyone passing by, he pulls us both into a tight hug. I'm surprised, but quickly return it. People are probably watching, but that hardly matters. After some time, a glance at my watch reminds me that we have an opera to get to, and I reluctantly disengage. This time, John's smile doesn't fade.

* * *

The production is wonderful, with stunning voices and good acting. I'm intrigued by Sarastro's costume, a sort of white robe with huge sleeves that I could easily see myself or Freddie wearing someday. If Roger's band idea pans out, maybe even on stage? The others are animatedly discussing the score on the way back, and John insists Roger could probably go higher than the sopranos. I have my doubts about that, but it's not entirely impossible.

As we arrive home, however, it's obvious that something's not right. The police car stationed outside is gone, and the door opened by what must have been some kind of lockpick. I exchange worried glances with Roger, dialling the police as I speak quietly.

"Someone's been here, that's obvious enough. I thought we were supposed to be guarded?"  
When Wu answers, he sounds just as concerned as us.

"The officer outside had orders to stay until midnight, when the next shift comes. I can't explain it. Don't go in, and be careful. We're on our way."

I relay the advice to my brothers, and look for a safe place to wait. John takes my hand in both his own, lips trembling with fear. I can't blame him, considering our experience. And then I notice the object on the doorstep, and my fear is joined by anger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned the film/musical Chitty Chitty Bang Bang partly because my parents and I are going to be in a production of it (yay!), and partly because the song does feel connected to my theme and story.


	11. Well You're Just Seventeen And All You Want To Do Is Disappear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the delay! This is quite a long chapter, so hopefully it’s worth it. Next one will be out... maybe not months from now? I’ll try?
> 
> I know I've said this before, but it really does get dark. I've updated the tag warnings to reflect the latest occurrences.

I don't want to take a closer look, but it's impossible to look away. Of course, I knew the people we're dealing with don't seem to have moral boundaries. But this... This is something I could never have expected. It's lower and more cruel than I could possibly have imagined, and I can't see a single reason why it happened. Wu told us to stay back, I know, and I intend to do so, but I feel almost irresistibly compelled to get a better vantage point. Surely it can't really be - And yet, all the evidence tells me that it is.

"The beasts!" I fight to keep my voice level, hardly recognising my own fury. "What reason could they possibly have had..." It makes me want to cry, seeing it. Seeing what they've done to Pixie.  
My beloved cat is lying motionless outside the door, and even from this distance I can see that something's extremely wrong.

She's facedown, but the streetlamps show me that her fur is matted with red. I want to look away... I have to...

"I don't believe it..." Roger whispers, quieter than I ever thought him capable of being but brittle with emotion. "What did she ever do to them..."

Even in the darkness, I can tell that he's on the verge of flying into a rage - and for the second time, I feel the same way. Delilah slips out from the bushes and runs to us - thank goodness for that, at least - and I instinctively bend down to pick her up, the feeling of holding and stroking her going some small way towards comforting me as well.

There's something else - a slip of paper, perhaps - lying near the... No. I can't say it. Lying near _her_. It's too far to make out properly, though, and I have enough self-control left not to approach. All we can do is wait, and that's not exactly a pleasant experience.

* * *

I'm not certain exactly how much time passes, but it feels like too much. Finally, a group of police cars approaches us, and the people we've sadly come to know too well step out towards us.

Wu approaches us immediately, as the forensic team heads towards the house.

"Are you all right? I'm sorry we couldn't come sooner, but it took longer than I expected to get here. You haven't disturbed anything, right?"

"Of course not," I affirm quickly. I do have some degree of intelligence.

"Didn't think you would," he says approvingly, "but I had to ask. After we finish going over the scene ourselves, you'll have to check if anything's been taken. In the meantime, you'll be taken somewhere safe and reasonably comfortable to spend the night - this could take some time, and it's not exactly early. All right?"

I nod, and we follow an officer to one of the cars.

* * *

The drive isn't too long, and we reach a hotel where the officer escorts us to a room and tells us that guards will be posted outside the door, as a pretty obvious precaution. The room is hardly the Dorchester, but it's reasonably comfortable and this isn't exactly a time to be picky. We settle in, sitting in awkward silence for several minutes. Nobody really knows how to switch back to ordinary conversation after what we've witnessed, and the many half-starts which trail off into nothing only make that more apparent.

Eventually, John tries to open the conversation, perhaps not in the most optimistic way.

"If we'd been there..." There's no need for him to elaborate any further. Roger immediately responds.

"If we'd been there, I'd have fought to my last breath before I let anything happen to either of you."

"I know. And I'm glad it didn't come to that, because I'd never have been able to live with myself if that had happened. What did happen, though... Well, I wish with all my heart that it hadn't, of course. But it's better than any of us being hurt, or possibly..."

He stops, but the damage is already done in my mind. My vivid imagination is a curse as often as a blessing, and I can't shake the mental image of John, or Roger, sprawled on the ground with blood drenching the back of their shirt...

I try to banish the thought, but too late. My mind goes momentarily blank, and I stumble against the wall. Roger grabs my arm, concern apparent on his face through the mist that seems to have taken over my vision.

"Brian! Brian, what-"

I drop into a chair, weakly shaking him off. Stupid... Why am I reacting like this to something that didn't even happen when so many horrible things actually have... Or maybe I'm not reacting to that, but to the combined trauma of everything the past weeks have brought upon us, somehow triggered through the mysterious workings of my brain by the idea of what could have been...

Be that as it may, my emotional resistance finally breaks down and I start crying; partly in relief that nothing worse happened, partly in sorrow for what did, and partly in apprehension for what could in the future.

Some part of me is trying to remind the rest that I can't do this, not in front of them and not just after an event that requires all our mental strength, but I can't work up the presence of mind to obey it.

I manage to make out John staring at me in apparent shock, his eyes scanning me confusedly as he tries to process my sudden breakdown. He's never seen me like this, I realise. Throughout everything, I've always managed to maintain some semblance of composure in front of him. I felt I owed it to him to at least try and be something stable and mature in his life, someone who supports him and not vice versa. It seems like a betrayal to lose control now, with so much potentially at stake, and when things finally seemed to be looking up for a moment.

_Snap out of it... not now, not ever..._

"Then when?" Roger's voice tells me that I've unintentionally voiced my thoughts again. "If you wear yourself out trying to be brave for other people every second, you won't be able to help them when it counts most. And keeping yourself locked up because you're afraid to be the one in need for once just hurts the people who care more, because they see how much you're hurting and can't do anything to help. Please, for once... Let us help you."

I shake my head, trying to pull myself back into reality. It doesn't work. The world around me fades to meaningless noise, and even John's exclamation of concern hardly registers.

"What's going on?" John's frightened voice seems to be directed at both of us. "Are you all right?"

I try to say yes, but that would be a pretty obvious lie. Before I can move to go, he puts a hand on my shoulder, smiling in a way that feels rather forced but also somehow genuine.

"Hey. It's going to be all right."

* * *

Sleepless nights seem to have become a habit with me, but it seems I'm not alone this time. We all end up trying and failing to sleep until the sun tells us that it's too late to continue. I'm exhausted, but there are things that need to be done. Are there ever not things that need to be done now?

Wu arrives early in the morning, and we're driven back home in order to go over the house, supervised by an officer, and find out what damage has been done. To be more precise, Roger and I are. John doesn't feel comfortable returning to the scene so soon. On the way, a thought occurs to me, but I'm not certain how to voice it.

"Have they... Did they move...?"

"Yes." Wu appears to understand. "We had to perform an autopsy anyway, and it would obviously not be too desirable for you to come back to a sight like that. There was something found nearby which doesn't seem very meaningful, but maybe you'll be able to understand it better than we could."

I consider. "I saw a note-"

"Exactly. A printed note, with the words 'They can't protect you' in large writing. It doesn't seem to be any more than a generic threat, but anything that could possibly be a clue is worth looking into. Do you have any ideas?"

Many ideas run through my mind, but hardly any of them seem worth investigating. The printed note could mean that it's someone whose handwriting we'd recognise, or it could just be a stylistic choice. Who could 'they' be referring to? Freddie and I? The police? The Prentisses? And why threaten us when we already know all too well that we're in danger? If they're trying to scare us into doing something stupid, I can't see what stupid thing they could possibly be hoping for. If they managed to get to us while the house was under police guard, it's pretty obvious that they couldn't protect us, so wouldn't the threat be redundant? And as for the police guard-

"What happened to the guard you posted?" I ask. "You said she wasn't supposed to have left. Could she have been involved in this?"

"It's possible," Wu admits. "We're still investigating that angle."

He's not telling me everything, that's obvious enough. But pressing for information isn't likely to get us anywhere, and I inform Roger of that as well with a quick warning glance. Before I can finish sorting through my facts and theories, we arrive.

* * *

The house is pretty much as we found it last night, except for Pixie's body having been removed and some of the debris cleared aside. Wu follows us in, and I begin sweeping the house with some trepidation. I still haven't gone through everything in the house, so I probably wouldn't realise if many things were missing, but as far as I can tell nothing seems to be.

The kitchen and living room are a mess, but one that seems to have been created solely for the purpose of making a mess. Nothing's been taken or seriously broken that I can see, not that those rooms hold too many things an intruder would want to take.

The younger boys' (and temporarily mine, I remember) room is in a similar condition, with a great deal of disorder but not too much actual damage. It fits with the note, I suppose - an attempt to scare us rather than do serious harm. Or it would, if not for the fact that serious harm has indeed been done. Why, of everything they could have done, did they go after - Sorry. Matter at hand. Roger assures Wu that nothing's missing, and we move on.

Freddie's and my room was already a mess from the previous intrusion, but doesn't seem to be any more messy. As if they just skipped over it for some reason.

And then there's my parents' room. I haven't been in there since the crash, and it feels strange entering under such circumstances, like an invasion of privacy. It doesn't help that the damage here is much greater than everywhere else, and I wouldn't know if anything was gone.

Drawers and cabinets are ransacked, papers and clothes lying haphazardly over the floor and bed. Either the people who did this really hated the room, or they were looking for something. Somehow, I'm inclined to go for the latter option. A purely intuition-based decision, I'm sure.  
It's not jewellery or other valuables they were looking for, apparently; those cabinets, while searched as thoroughly as everywhere else, seem to have been handled with care and the contents replaced after searching.

Wu turns to me. "I'm asking again. Do you know of anything your parents owned or did that might explain this? There was definitely some kind of motive, at the very least. I'm not a member of your family, so unless our investigation turns up anything new you're the only people who can figure out what's going on. And I think you want to see that figured out."

Roger sighs in exasperation. "I don't know, okay? If we knew anything, we'd have filled you in and you know that. We have no motive to lie, or to hide information, and putting more pressure on us won't help. Satisfied?"

I try to calm him down tentatively. "Nobody's suggesting that we're lying. He's trying to help us, and we need to cooperate if there's any progress to be made. I know this is a tense situation for all of us, Rog, but it would be a good idea if you at least tried to stay calm."

He shoots me a covert glare, but appears a little bit calmer. 

* * *

The day yields few results, and we find ourselves once more sleeping away from home. It's strange how, even with everything that's happened there, I still feel more comfortable in the house I've lived in for seventeen and a half years. 

Neither John nor Roger wants to discuss the latest occurrence, and I can't blame them. It's not easy to sleep with so many thoughts and fears, but before too long I find myself drifting off uneasily - the stress finally taking its toll, perhaps.

Of course, I can't just sleep peacefully. Why would I want that?

I'm standing over a grave with John's name on it, scattering the broken fragments of my guitar as if they were flowers. Freddie's voice comes from somewhere behind me, but I can neither see him nor make out the words.

It's a nightmare, it has to be, but my dream-brain refuses to acknowledge that. Instead, the scene changes.

I'm back at the night of the first intrusion, backed against the wall with a knife millimetres from my neck.

"Why?" In the dream, I repeat what I said that night. But the answer changes.

"It should have been you."

Before the words even hit my mind properly, the attacker's blade moves with deadly speed. I drop to the ground, futilely trying to stop the bloodflow. My perspective changes, and I watch from above as he stands over my own body, calmly cleaning his knife and stepping back towards the window. Roger bursts in, and screams-

But the scream is my own, and I wake up gasping. I clutch at my throat, half expecting my hands to come away bloody.

_Just a dream... meaningless conglomeration of thoughts and memories, only natural considering..._

"Brian, what happened? Are you okay?"

As the cherry on top of my unpleasant rest, it seems I've woken up John. As illogical as it is, I'm relieved to see him, and banish that second of doubt the first dream left me with. After all, that other night my dream turned out far too close to reality.

The light switches on, and I meet my brother's frightened eyes. His hair is unkempt from sleep, contributing to his distraught appearance. I hastily try to reassure him, speaking rather too quickly for comprehension.

"It's okay just a nightmare I'm sorry I woke you go back to sleep what time is it anyway?"

"Half-past eleven, to be imprecise." John checks the time on his phone before coming to sit next to me on my bed. "Are you sure you're okay? I just - I thought something had happened -"

"I know. Don't worry, though, it's just my subconscious overreacting to-"

"What did you dream about? If you feel up to talking about it, that is?"

I debate whether to respond for a moment, but it can't really hurt that much.

"I... you were..."

Or maybe it can. Does he really need any more reminders of how close we came to losing him?

I stop short, but he seems to have gathered my intent already.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I can't imagine how terrifying that must have been... But it wasn't real, and we're both fine, so no harm done in the long run. Right?"

"Well... Yes. Right." No harm done. But...

"I was dreaming about that night," I continue. I don't need to specify which. "I still can't believe what you did."

"What's so unbelievable about me defending you? You did the same for me, and we both know that. Did you think I don't care-"

"But it wasn't the same," I insist. "In the crash, I wouldn't have come out unscathed no matter what I did. And, well, I figured that if I was bound to lose either way then I might as well go out trying to save you."

That last part is something of a white lie - I wasn't really thinking anything at the time besides the mad impulse to do something. Close enough, though. I think.

"And?" John prompts. "What are you getting at?"

"What am I getting at?" I take a moment to compose my thoughts before responding. "You could have saved yourself. You could have just run and called the police. But you had to go and consciously put yourself in harm's way, almost get yourself killed for-"

"Consciously? I didn't put any more thought into it than you did. I just... woke up, heard noises, went to check, and then I saw that man about to..." He trails off, raising a hand to his throat in a seemingly unconscious motion. When he resumes, his voice suddenly takes a more agitated tone; somewhere between tears and a fury that seems strangely out of place for him.

"If I hadn't tried to fight him, you'd almost certainly be dead right now and we both know it! I couldn't have stood there and watched you die any more than you could have survived what he tried to do to you, and you can't say you wouldn't have done the same!"

"Whether I would or not isn't the issue here!" I'm not sure why my voice is raised, but I feel anger rising suddenly. It's not anger at John specifically, and I know he's done nothing to deserve it - perhaps my real target is the person, or people, who caused this situation in the first place. But they're not here, and I can't get to them, so my emotion decides to find a different outlet.

"You had no right to endanger yourself like that, no right to risk everything and put us all through that. If you hadn't made it, I don't know-"

"Bri. You're starting to sound like Roger, and speaking on that topic we probably shouldn't wake him up-"

But I can't stop myself from continuing now that my words have found their way into the open. 

"It should have been me, that night. You shouldn't have intervened."

_It should have been me._

Unthinkingly, I repeat what the dream planted in my mind. No, not planted. More like brought to the surface.

I've been trying to hide the thought even from myself, but my subconscious seems to have other ideas. 

Freddie would probably call it survivor's guilt, irrationally blaming myself because no other target is within reach.

"Why on earth would you say something like that?" John asks. "I don't see how you dying would be any better than me... spending a couple of days in hospital? You can't really be suggesting that it would!"

"That's not what I'm-" I stop, realising I can't explain without worrying him even more. What _am_ I suggesting, anyway? The words just seemed to come out by themselves, but attempting to retrace my thought only makes me more certain I don't want to know the answer. 

I lie back in bed and turn the light off, trying to recover what little sleep remains for the night. It doesn't work, and after what feels like hours I'm almost relieved to hear John's hesitant whisper.

"Hey, Brian... you still awake?"

I turn towards him in the darkness, barely making out his shape as my eyes adjust. "Yes?"

"Happy New Year."

"Is it?" I whisper uncertainly. For all I know, it could be anywhere from halfway through December to the end of February.

"I noticed when I checked the time that it was the thirty-first. And, well, that was half an hour ago. Shall we hope for a better year?"

"I suppose we shall." I raise an imaginary glass, smiling for the first time... this year, I suppose.

"Happy New Year, John. Maybe we'll finally have a bit of luck."

Not long after, we both finally return to sleep.


	12. Wind Me Up, You Get Your Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s far from perfect, but I got lazy so maybe it’ll be edited in the future.

I wake up more refreshed than I'd expected, but also, unfortunately, later. John and Roger are already up, and I notice with some frustration that it's eleven a.m. Roger turns to me with a smile, seeming far too exuberant for what we've just been through.

"You're finally up! Did you notice, it's New Year's Day?"

I briefly state my assent, feeling too tired for an in-depth discussion.

"Funny how time still happens despite this mess we're in. Wu said the police are pretty much done checking out the house, so we can go back today. Also..." For a moment, the cheerful demeanour falls aside. "They finished the, um..." A long pause, but I don't rush him. "Well, they finished the autopsy. That is..."

I nod my understanding, not wanting to force the reminder from him. "You think we should go and hear what they found?"

"Maybe, if you feel up to it. I don't know, there might be some closure in... knowing how it happened? Maybe?"

"I'll go," I decide. Maybe he's right, and if not then maybe we could at least learn something. If we're lucky, perhaps even something that could help trace the culprit? Then again, maybe the police are better equipped than us to handle that side of things.

"Right, then. John, do you want to sit in? It's perfectly all right if you don't, but if you think you can handle it..."

John clasps his hands together uncomfortably.

"I... I don't know. I want to know how this happened, but hearing the details, all that violence and-"

I quickly intervene, seeing his eyes threatened by tears.

"It's okay. You don't have to, and you know neither of us would ever make you. This is your decision."

John says nothing, looking at both of us in silent questioning. I wish I had an answer for him. If he even trusts me anymore, after last night and that stupid thing I did the day before. If my little brother can't rely on me, who can he rely on? I thought I could at least be strong for him, not fall apart the moment something-

And now I can't even think about that in front of him, for fear of something happening again. For the first time, I find myself impatient to be alone. Or with Roger and Freddie, where I can be open and not have to let them hold on to me. I get up.

"We should probably get going, I guess. Putting this off any longer will just make it more difficult."

Secretly, I'm almost hoping that John won't hear the findings with us. And I'm disappointed.

"I think... I can handle it," he says finally. "I have to know. It's not as if anyone's going to hurt us there, right?"

"I sincerely hope not," Roger says. His good mood is almost irritating in this situation, but then he can't know, can he? "Let's go."

* * *

Before the day's more serious plans, we start by returning home yet again. It seems to be turning into a habit, doesn't it? Nothing looks particularly different from the last time we were here, but the idea of strangers looking through our house and our things, whether it be the police gathering evidence to protect us or the unknown intruders with more sinister motives, makes the house look ever-so-slightly out of place to my imagination. This is exactly the same place I've spent nearly all my life in, but my subconscious begs to differ.

The officer escorting us leaves us at the door, saying that Wu will come to update us at one. I step inside and Delilah is almost instantly running to us. Maybe it's my troublesome imagination again, but she appears less playful and energetic than always. Does she know what's happened, I wonder? Was her first sign of anything wrong the disappearance of her friend, or was she perhaps there when it happened, helpless and terrified?

I stroke her fur, the softness and rhythmic motion exerting a slightly calming influence over my mind.

_I'm so sorry, girl... I won't let them take anyone else from me, I promise. Never again._

The movement of my hand brings to mind that of strumming a guitar, which makes me wish I could get back to playing already. But no, I just had to break my arm and end up stuck with no practice for two months. Just another, and fairly minor, part of my life which has been destroyed by the past month, I suppose.

I sit with her on the couch for a while, until John pops in from the dining room.

"Rog says we have food, and Freddie wants to call in when we're available and talk about the custody thing. Apparently we've had developments."

"Roger made the food?" I ask. "Are you sure it's safe?"

John shrugs. "I think we have bigger worries than Roger's cooking. Are you hungry?"

"A little," I admit. "Did I forget to eat again today?"

"Now that I think of it, yes. Are you al- Nevermind, that's a silly question. I know none of us are all right. It's just... I said that I want to be there for you. And I see, the way you're acting now... Well, it's like the way I was those weeks ago, when you were worried about me. If me feeling like that makes you worried, shouldn't the other way around apply too?"

"I don't want you worrying about me," I say quickly. "You already have enough to deal with, my stupid feelings shouldn't add to that. It's good to see you're feeling somewhat better, though. And... thanks for reminding me about the food. Shall we go make sure Rog doesn't have to eat it all himself?"

"I don't really think he'd mind," John says thoughtfully, but accompanies me to the dining room.

* * *

Roger's cooking is definitely improving, and I honestly quite like what he manages to throw together. It feels strange without Pixie's habitual attempts to distract us for playtime - she was always the more feisty of the two, and I hadn't realised how much I missed her antics. Delilah seems to be acting unusually difficult in compensation, but it's nowhere near the same.

I wonder if we'll ever get used to the piling on of loss after loss, or if time will eventually dull the many pains into an all-encompassing ache with no clear cause or solution. Hopefully, I'll never have to find out.

After lunch, Freddie calls. We've briefed him on the latest atrocity, of course, but this is the first chance we've had to really sit down and talk about it. Honestly, I don't know if I'm looking forwards to the conversation. 

On the one hand, his kind, understanding manner has reassured me since we were five and six and the kids in preschool made fun of my curls. I'm surprised I even remember that far back, but the memories are still quite strong.

On the other, I really don't feel like talking to anyone about such a topic at the moment, not even the one person I've never felt guilty for relying on. It's not as if we'll be having a private discussion, either; how can I be expected to stay controlled for the younger ones when I can't even do it for myself?

But Roger's pressed the answering button, and I can't exactly make excuses now.

"Hi!" The call takes place over video, so I can see Freddie's dark eyes glancing over us as he speaks. He can also see us, and probably realises my fear immediately, but I try not to concentrate on that.

"Hi in return. How are you?" Roger asks, in the same easy conversational tone that's been grating on me all day. I want to confront him about it, but this isn't exactly the time.

Freddie smiles weakly, but the weakness appears due to his still-recovering condition and not any particular discomfort.

"Not too bad, I think. It seems I might even be able to start with a wheelchair before too long, but that's not why I called. Look, you know about the Prentisses, right? Our supposed aunt and uncle who think they can take better care of us than we can of each other?"

"We've met them," I remind him. "What's going on? Don't tell me they want another go at persuading us-"

"Not exactly." Freddie sighs in annoyance. "They want a go at persuading the legal system. Samantha Prentiss has officially applied for custody of you three, there's a date chosen for the hearing and everything. I tried to notify you sooner, but then this other mess got in the way, and you can see how it would be a little derailing. The hearing is set for the twenty-fourth of February, so we have time but not all that much. I just hope this won't hurt our case, what with how easily someone got in and how powerless we'd have been to defend ourselves if- Sorry. I'm sorry, I shouldn't be reminding you of that. I wish we didn't have to deal with these things one after the other, it just makes both of them feel worse."

I can't help agreeing with that, at least. Our home being invaded yet again and the threat of being taken from it, within less than a week of each other... Reality must be pulling a very sick joke on us.

"Maybe we should meet in person," John suggests, "It'd be easier to talk, and I kind of miss you. Not that Bri and Roger aren't taking perfectly good care of me, but..."

"Yeah, I understand. Shall we hold a formal council of war in the near future, then?"

"That sounds ominous." I frown, but it's only half-serious. "Oh! I completely forgot, how's your writing going? You said the last few times we spoke that you've been following in my footsteps. right?"

Freddie laughs. "So I did, as a matter of fact. Why don't I send a couple of songs to you, and you can give some expert opinions? Give me something to amuse myself with during these long and lonely days."

"I think we'd both love that," I agree. "Make them interesting, all right?"

"You say that as if I were ever boring, darling! All right, though. Some 'interesting' little pieces, coming your way in a few minutes."

Some more small talk passes, but all too soon the time arrives for Wu's visit. I know better by now than to hope for good news.

* * *

Wu enters quickly, with an air of not wanting to waste time. Whether it's due to the unpleasant task or another engagement, I don't know and don't ask.

"So," he begins, "you know why we're meeting today, I assume?"

"Of course we do," Roger answers. "Can we get to the point?"

"Absolutely. As you've been informed, the autopsy on your cat has been completed. The results show multiple stab wounds, possibly even from the same blade used in the earlier attempt on your lives."

"If it was the same blade and method," I wonder, "was it also..."

"No toxins of any kind were found in her system. Whether they no longer have access to the substance they used last time or whether there's some other reason, we of course don't know yet."

"It could be either," Roger agrees. "Assuming that Dr. Brightman used his position as a toxicologist to get it for them last time, it makes sense that they either couldn't get their hands on more or didn't want to waste what little they had left on this."

I'm pleasantly surprised by the insight, but decide this isn't really the time for an encouraging smile.

"That definitely makes sense." I return my attention to Wu, "Was there anything else noteworthy?"

"If it's any consolation to you, it appears she tried to fight back. The claws were out."

"Did you find anything that could identify the culprit, then?" I ask with some degree of excitement.

No, excitement isn't really the right word. Anticipation, maybe. Hope that we, or more accurately the police, finally have some piece of real evidence to use in stopping this train of catastrophes.

I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up.

"Unfortunately, it seems they took that into account as well. The claws were cleaned with what was probably a household cleaning products, and no biological evidence was found. I'm sorry, you're not the only one who had hopes for a solution in that direction."

So, this person must be very smart. But the man who tried to kill me didn't seem all that calculated. Looks can be deceiving, of course. Or are there still more?

"And what about Dr. Brightman?" John suddenly chimes in. "It's been some days since you told us he was holding out, no?"

"Still nothing, I'm afraid. He's being strangely reticent, considering that he has more to gain by cooperating than otherwise. No motive, no accomplices, nothing. I really do wish we had more for you, but rest assured that my team are doing everything they can. I would advise you for your own safety to leave the house as little as possible until this situation is resolved, as stationing guards is easier than escorting you on every outing and we don't have unlimited manpower to spend on a single case no matter how important. Do you understand?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I confirm. I understand the reasoning, of course, but I can't help feeling that if this drags on very long spending all our time at home will quickly become very unpleasant, not to mention boring.

I imagine it's better than risking our lives, though. For the time being.

And with that, the conference comes to an end.

* * *

"I don't believe it," Roger exclaims angrily after Wu leaves. "Stuck here, for the foreseeable future, because the police don't think our situation is 'important' enough? What exactly would be so hard about sending escorts with us when we go out?"

"Well," I try to reason with him, "If there's an officer escorting us every time we leave the house, they'll probably still need to post a guard outside the house itself. It takes more resources, as simple as that."

"Why should that matter when people's lives and happiness are at stake, exactly?"

"Rog, we're almost certainly not the only people or even the only children in this kind of situation. The police have limited resources, and they need to spend them as best they can, not concentrate everything onto us, and I'm sure you can see that-"

"Can I? They couldn't protect us when someone broke in and tried to cut your throat. They couldn't protect us when someone went for Pixie. Are they even trying at this point?"

"The first incident had no warning before it, and as for the second, they did have a guard at the house. Someone managed to get past the guard, and I don't know how that happened. There are capable people on our side, I promise you!"

His expression twists into contempt.

"And yet they knew before we did that someone was after us, and did nothing, not even tell us so. I find it very hard to believe that they're even trying. I guess in the grand scheme of things, they have higher priorities than protecting four orphaned kids who nobody's going to miss-"

"Don't say that!" My interruption is almost a reflex action, partly in shock that he's even considering such a thing and partly an attempt not to let myself think about how similar some of my own thoughts have been. "You know it's not true, and you'll just make yourself upset. They care about protecting us, okay? It's their job to protect people. We're going to be okay."

It feels so wrong, trying to comfort someone else over the very things that I can't get out of my head. This whole thing is just- How am I even supposed to start?

And I don't appear to have been convincing, either. Roger's anger only continues to rise.

"And _you_ know _that's_ not true. This is their job, not a charity volunteering gig. When you see death and evil every day, can you really care about any of it?"

"You're definitely helping," I flare up. "All those outbursts in front of someone who's just trying to help us, getting angry at him for doing his best? I'm sure that makes him care about us a lot more."

"At least I'm honest about my feelings, not smiling along and pretending to be diplomatic when I want to shout or break something! You think you're 'helping' by acting like mummy's little do-gooder at every opportunity?"

"Seriously? You're assuming that just because you feel that way, I'm faking it? Maybe, let's just think a second, I actually appreciate the effort that Wu and his colleagues are putting in for us and want to be polite and respectful? He's going above and beyond the call of his duty in keeping us updated on everything where someone else probably wouldn't even bother, and you're just making his job harder. Sometimes kindness is better than honesty, all right?"

"Yes, effort. Indulging a bunch of kids for twenty minutes every few days is such a great condescension. It's not as if anyone actually cares about what we think or know beyond the purposes of the investigation. I don't think this is out of the goodness of his heart."

"And whatever happened to assuming good intentions?"

Our voices are both raised now, not that I really care in my sudden urge to let out every single feeling and frustration I've tried to keep back for the last month.

"Assuming good intentions, you say?" Roger counters. "For example, when a man broke in and tried to kill us, I have to assume he was just looking for the bathroom? That sort of thing is for ordinary situations, not this mad-"

"Shut up, both of you!"

John's tearful shout silences us both for a moment. He stands in the doorway, hands on his hips like some cartoon mother with unruly children. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen him angry, but this is definitely one of them.

"Do you think standing here insulting each other is going to catch the people after us? You think it's going to make the police put more effort into our protection? Or do you just want to fight it out and hurt all of us even more? I thought you were supposed to be the mature ones, but this is just ridiculous!"

"We weren't-" I begin, but know it's a lie before I finish the second word. It did feel good, in a twisted sort of way, shouting every grievance I never consciously knew I had at someone who I knew was going to fight back. How can I apologise now, though? Not in the heat of the moment, at any rate. I can't just concede defeat.

Before I can formulate a better response, John glares even more furiously and the words don't even reach my vocal cords. If it weren't for the tears in his voice as he berates us, I'd almost say he was enjoying this.

"Is this what it's going to be like from now on, shouting matches every time something one of you doesn't like happens? Looking for someone to take it out on? I imagine if I'd died back in the hospital those weeks ago, you'd be standing over my grave arguing over who was to blame for it!"

That. That finally stops my mind's internal arguments. He can't know about the dream, of course. I didn't tell him, right? Or did I? I can't remember, but it doesn't matter. The mere thought puts me on the verge of crying myself. This is stupid, all of it. I wish- I don't know! Just make it stop, make all of this stop...

I flee the room to my own, locking the door with a violence I feel ashamed for. I need space, time... I need five minutes without something terrible occupying my thoughts. Please.

I understand Roger's desire to break something, now. There's almost nothing in the room that doesn't stir my emotions in some way. The guitar I can't play, the empty bunk above me, the pictures of a happiness I can never get back...

I hate this whole place, these fights, this situation, every single part of the disaster that's consumed us. I want myself back!

The muffled sounds of conversation reach me from the living room, and the argument still sounds quite heated even without me. This is it, then.

I imagine in a way I always knew that I couldn't keep John sheltered from this forever, but this feels much too sudden. Much too cruel.

I think back to last night, and how I just had to go and scare him with my own fears. When this started, I said I'd help my little brothers. I said I'd be there for them, support them, comfort them... But have I really done any of that? Or have I just brought more pain with my every action?

It was Roger who took charge when John was injured, Roger who saved his life in the hospital, Roger who arranged the night of recreation we all needed...

Granted, that night didn't exactly end happily, but none of us could possibly have known that at the time. If he hadn't taken initiative, for all we know the attack could have happened while we were there - so maybe it was even for the best.

Maybe it _would_ be better for us to go with Sam after all, to have adults who actually know what they're doing in charge. But I could never look Freddie in the eye and admit that I'd failed at keeping us together. When it comes to that, however, I quite possibly already have.

It's not as if my guardianship has succeeded in any spectacular way, and we'll need much more than mere survival to impress the custody system.

Maybe tomorrow, or later this week, I'll be able to meet with Freddie properly and discuss these concerns. Maybe, if I'm lucky, we'll even have a few moments alone.


End file.
